


Memoirs of a Miqo'te

by DterminD



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol, Alliteration, Angst with a Happy Ending, Butlers, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Child Death, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, Interviews, Loss of Parent(s), Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Masturbation Interruptus, Memoirs, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Orphanage, POV First Person, Parent Death, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Public Nudity, Red Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Seduction, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Street & Stage Magic, Toxic Masculinity, Underage Masturbation, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Backstory, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Needs a Hug, bisexual awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DterminD/pseuds/DterminD
Summary: Memoirs of a Miqo'teis an extensive (ongoing) exploration of the backstory of Raphail Somnalune, the FFXIV Warrior of Light. The story cuts back and forth between post-Heavensward “current” segments and past segments, showing Raphail’s growth and change over his life and the course of his journeys in Eorzea. The events of Stormblood and Shadowbringers are not covered in this story.As the war between dragon and man winds down in Ishgard, Raphail finds himself eager to focus on new horizons. However, the Mythril Eye has other plans for him. Lilisu Lisu, one of Uldah’s finest scholars (and recent hire for the Eye) steps onto the scene, ready to pry the truth of the so-called legend’s past from his lips at any cost. But as her interview proceeds, Raphail’s tale becomes more than just her job: it becomes her reason for telling stories in the first place.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) & Original Character(s), Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. The Cat of Many Colors

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER-FREE: _Memoirs of a Miqo’te_ features subtle references to events from ARR, Heavensward, and early Stormblood content for scene-setting purposes, but the details of noteworthy, specific plot points are kept intentionally vague. Newer fans of Eorzea and FFXIV should be safe to enjoy this without fear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilisu Lisu takes her first look at the Warrior of Light — for better or for worse. Though their introduction gets off to a rocky start, an understanding is reached between the two, and Raphail begins to prepare himself for the long and painful task of telling his entire life’s story to a stranger for the first time ever. TAGS: alliteration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One is _significantly_ different from the rest of the story in style and tone. I wanted to write the first scene from Lili’s perspective so that readers got their first look at the big, legendary “hero” from someone else’s point of view. However, writing an _entire chapter_ in constant alliteration was… a mistake. I’d take it down, but the fact that I managed to write it _at all_ is a point of pride (don’t @ me!)
> 
> Lili still uses heavy alliteration when she speaks in future chapters, but Raphail’s the storyteller for everything else, which removes 95% of the problem. If you find Chapter One hard to read, please skip ahead to Chapter Two and see if that helps. All you need to know from Chapter One is who Lili is and what role she plays, and you can get the basics of that from the summary above.

_[Editor's Note: this introduction was taken from the writings of Lilisu Lisu, famed reporter for the Mythril Eye. The views expressed here reflect Ms. Lisu's observations. This publication shall not be held accountable for any disagreements or concern resulting from their perusal. —Ed.]_

Salt, seawater, and savagery clung to the coastal climes, flirting with the tow of the tides and the flow of the ink that poured from my pen. On a different day, the ambiance could be almost agreeable; alas, the interminable itinerary across the ocean to the thrumming thalassocracy of Limsa Lominsa had taken its toll on my tolerance for the Navigator’s niceties. I was in no shape for sightseeing.

I fumed at the table in front of me and tried to avoid the assault on my senses. My scrawls and scribbles lay scattered around a flagon of Baderon’s finest - meant for larger mitts than mine. The day that Hyur stopped hustling hooch long enough to consider the constitution of the Lalafellin lasses that graced his estimable establishment would be the day he dropped dead! Or, perhaps, he pitied me; the man had eyes everywhere when it came to reading a room. Rumor had it that he served somewhat more than rotgut and ribaldry.

It took both hands and most of my might to jostle my jug for a sip; I found myself forced to brace my bottom against the seat of my stool for balance. Every time I thought I had acclimated to the absurdity of life as a Lalafell in a realm reborn in Hyuran habits, I found fresh falsehoods. It was a marvel I managed to make it to the Drowning Wench at all! And if not for the foolish, fabled feline I sought, I wouldn’t have wished to try. It was all _his_ fault.

My gaze returned to the rows of nervous notes I had almost abandoned. The meeting he promised was preposterous to posit, particularly for a greenhorn gazetteer; a senior scribe should have stood in my stead! If chance championed my cards, it would be the memoir of the millennium; a tale told at dinner tables for decades to come, notarized with my name! No entity in Eorzea would squander a shot at finding themselves face-to-face with the Warrior of Light! - he who purged primals, and gutted the Garlean threat with the tip of his tail.

This time, counter to the chaos of the Calamity, we could all call to mind his moniker.

_Somnalune. Raphail. The self-styled Seeker of Truth._

Yet I yearned to put several yalms between myself and his resplendent _radiance_. He’d promised to parley a ponze hours hence. The longer he lingered and lollygagged, the smaller and sillier I felt atop my choice of chair. If he intended to ignore my interview, then why had he burned a bunch of bells with no word to me? Surely the luminous Warrior of Light would make no mockery of me: a mortal missionary hoping to herald his history to the hordes…

A queer quietness quaffed the Drowning Wench. It took me mere moments to realize the reason; my aimless arm had inverted my inkwell, pooling pitch-black pestilence atop my papers. The boards of Baderon’s top-of-the-line tavern, and the copious contours of my clothing, were definitively drenched. I did not wonder if the man himself knew; his gaze lingered on the lift that carried customers to and from the lower levels of Limsa Lominsa, but a visible vein thundered through his towering temple. His pity for pathetic prentices had perceptibly… parched.

Roused by redolent rage, I spurred myself from the seat with a squelch, slogging my sandals through the sordid sea. The wanton and willful Warrior of Light was clearly naught but a catty charlatan of a clown, and I would waste no more words on his auspicious absence. If Fate in fact favored such a fop, then he could find another fool to ferry his fables for him! Pirates, it seemed, were not the only pox or poison plaguing the lovely Limsa Lominsa!

My temper tantrum and torment abruptly abated as I collided with a chaotic, crimson blur before me; a giant yet gentle hand hovered into my view. Bitter and blinded by bloodlust, I peered up into a pair of pristine blue eyes, cerulean and cobalt from moment to moment, replete with repentance… and _remarkable_ resplendence. Rumors just did not deign to do him justice.

The Warrior of Light knelt before me, his scarlet suit indicative of the intensive training he took to prepare for his purpose: the saving of souls. A simple pair of pince-nez nestled atop his pale nose, graciously granting me more to muse on than the endlessness of his eyes. His roguish, ruffled mane and ears exulted a plentiful palette of plums mingled with mottled moonlight; he was a model Miqo’te Keeper of the Moon. The dark designs around his eyes and across his cheeks confirmed it. Behind him, his long, luxurious tail twisted itself into an articulate assortment of angles.

Could he _control_ that? Such inquiries would inevitably insult him, and yet I _urgently_ wanted to understand…

…still, he should not have shirked his service to the scribes! I hedged at his mitigating mitt, in private pontificating whether my faerie-like fist might be crushed in his claws. I tried to twist my erstwhile expression into something full of frustration, daring him to dally about with endless excuses and exhortations unworthy of a Warrior of Light. The peculiar paws - _no, pause_ \- brought a brief burden to his face, and he withdrew his hand, hurrying it through his hair to alleviate the awkwardness afoot - as if he’d always aimed to alter his appearance!

When he spoke, it was voluptuary velvet on singing steel, and I forgot my folly between one syllable and the second. _Thal’s balls_ , but Eorzea was blessed by his silence; the star could not suffer such sensual sorcery but moment to moment… n-not that I noticed!

“Look, the kobolds that kept me aren’t any happier than you are. A few sproutling adventurers were in over their heads, and I don’t leave widowers behind on my watch, even if I have to do it with my spells tied behind my back. A personal challenge, you might say.”

The bark of Baderon’s boorish brogue from behind the bar interrupted my introspection. “Listen to ‘im, blamin’ ‘is troubles on the young ‘uns. Ain’t so long ago he was one of ‘em.” The goofy grin on his misshapen mug went wild. “He ain’t around here as much as I’d like, neither. Somethin’ about all them maidens just _needin_ ’ his fair helpin’ hands in between savin’ the world - aye, Mister bleedin’ Warrior of Light? ‘Tis a wonder Eorzea ain’t mostly women by now!”

My eyes narrowed as I watched the fool’s face shift from the warm welcome for a familiar friend, to a guilty-as-charged grin - though it was evident he lacked the shame to blush at Baderon’s broadside. “Come now, Baderon. If I did that, who’d be keeping your fine establishment in business? Or are you serving watered-down wine these days? None of the fair maidens I know would be swilling this rotgut. You need _me_ for that.” Before I could balk, he picked up my nearly-full flagon and gushed it down his gullet in the time it took to tap my toes.

Now enlightened to the elegance of his voice, I found it easier to focus on my original impulse to smack him in the shin. My hands on my hips, I squarely faced the scoundrel as I would a white page of paper. Few enough of the falsehoods I heard mentioned his flippant foolery… or perhaps the small sip of sauce I swallowed was making me mindless. “Don’t you dare play dodo with me, ser Somnalune! Do you discern how _delayed_ you are? I was just collecting my conclusions and looking to leave!”

I had thought my voice to be ludicrously loud, and expected everyone in the Wench to be staring sideways at me - again - but they were staring at Baderon, who abruptly adopted a dark, dangerous look not unlike the one he wore when I wrecked my inkwell. Even the Warrior of Light stood at attention, arrested in the midst of his motion to return my empty tankard to the tabletop. The gleeful glimmer in his eye was gone, replaced with a rapt, wary watchfulness.

“You’ll be payin’ for that, right, Somnalune? This ain’t a charity, even for yer kind.”

I had to hand him bonus points for bravery; Somnalune stopped to slowly put the flagon down first before beginning his reply. Perhaps the prized pedigree of a hero held him hostage; perhaps his wits were wandering. I had yet to discern the difference, or whether there was one at all. “Beg pardon. I assumed the lady paid for her own drink, and… well, she didn’t seem inclined to finish it. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Baderon’s icy glare failed to falter an ilm, and the lingering lift-girl was starting to get shifty; I decided the Roegadyn must do double-duty as a bar bouncer. “Ya ain’t been gone long enough to forget my no-sharesies rule. Ye drink it, ye pays fer it. Right?”

Raphail slowly shook his head, and by some mystifying motive, a suggestion of his singular smile fluttered onto his face. “Right. Fair’s fair, after all. And fortunately, I aim to please.”

I stared in silence as he grabbed a gilcoin from his pocket, positioned it just so between his thumb and forefinger, and proceeded to ping it - with perfect precision - across the room, toward the bar, and into Baderon’s hailing hand. As if that weren’t wondrous enough, the clink of the coin clearing his claw propelled him into additional action. The power prism that harnessed the proof of his power rose, remarkably, to hover above his gil hand; the other brandished the blade that I somehow didn't see him draw.

In a separate section of the saloon, a hooded Hyuran man surreptitiously shuffled toward the exit, hands holstered in his plainly empty pockets. Glowing magical bonds bound him before he could blink.

In the fracas that followed, Baderon howled hard enough to make breath burdensome, banging his mitt on the bar in merriment. The lift-girl leapt to her leathers, plainly prepared to weigh anchor with the antagonist's arse. The denizens of the Drowning Wench erupted in echoing cheers and chatter; rounds were raised to righteousness - and the remarkable Warrior of Light! For his half, Raphail ended the effect of his spell and shrugged, sheathing his rapier and returning his rhinestone to its rightful place at his hip. “Tsk. Every time you do that, old man, I start to think my luck’s run out and you’re serious. Titan himself’s got nothin’ on that glare!”

Baderon hacked into his fist, still fighting to find his focus. “Good. Helps if you don’t hafta pretend, aye? At least yer still quick on the uptake. I’d expect no less from ye.” Arms bent across his burly chest, he watched as the lift-girl loaded the struggling, swearing Hyur onto her shoulder and towed him through his elected exit. “When that lad comes to, he’ll wish he’d pretended harder. The lift’s the nice way to the docks. Shoulda taken it while he had the chance.”

Then he squinted down at me, still standing stunned and silent in a pool of my own ink. “Pardon the time-wastin’, lass. I’ve already prepared a private room and the aesthetician for the two of ye. I just thought th’ scholars might enjoy a little first-hand account o’ what our Lominsan boy can do. And that’s just for the freeloaders. Wait’ll you hear what he can do to the Garleans. Even ye’ll have to admit he’s easy on the eyes.”

I longed to load my lexicon with locations in which I wanted to shove Somnalune's stinking _eyes_ , but I found myself growing as nervous as a babe on her nameday. His dazzling display more than met the marks of proof and performance; the cat was clearly no charlatan. Fop though he fancied himself, there was much more to mete out, and I had scarce begun to believe it! Furthermore, the fool without fail would have his fair share of floozies flocking from every fulm. Contrary to them, I couldn't claim to contain my own quavering quill!

Yet… I was soon to yield less than a yalm from his full, fabulous flair, friendless in a rented room. Rumors about rakish rogues could rot… _what would they write about me?!_

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Much.” I looked up at Raphail, who rushed to replace his trademark smirk with a traditional smile at the sight of my flushing face. “This isn’t a pleasure visit. You’ll be glad to know I’m a bit of a scholar myself. I’d rather talk about books, if it’s all the same to you. Yours, first and foremost.” He glanced at the chronometer on the wall and winced, again angling a hand through his hair in what I would later note as a natural nervous tic. “I’ll talk fast. And I’ll be happy to cover your cleaning costs and travel expenses as well, since so much of this visit has been compromised. Even if you still tell the world I’m useless.”

“Truly? You aren't trying to tease me out of telling the truth, then?” I did my best to borrow Baderon’s black look, crossing my arms over my chest; out of the corner of my eye, I could see him chortling as he filled flagons with his famous firewater.

I calculated the comment to ruffle Raphail’s radiance, but his casual chuckle didn't chance to find his face. The specter of something strange, somber, and sad settled upon his fallen features, and I found myself with misgivings where my mouth should be. It was feasible to forget, faced with his foolery, that the well-worn title of Warrior of Light came with the weight of the world: witnessing things that no typical cat could suffer sane.

As he answered, he addressed the floor in front of him; the elusive emotion he evaded seemed to spill out in his speech. “You may have heard that I call myself the Seeker of Truth. There are enough lies in this world… and many truths that turn out to be lies under investigation. I won’t be controlling what you write. My own story changes every day, as does yours. I would have you free to tell whatever truths you will. For my part, I’ve found that the truth is often just as brutal as it is kind.”

In that instant, the idiot I intended to indict as a far-too-fortunate fool became a soul whose story I sought to spill. Unlike unseemly heists and hijinks, meditations and mindsets played to my preferences. If he could utter such ultimatums, and understand their uses, we had more in common than I considered. Perchance it was possible that he, himself, deigned to disavow the endless expanse of extolment effusing his name? But he clearly seemed content with Baderon’s bluster. Questions began to mount in my mind, and after many muddled moments, I realized that Raphail was regarding me, awaiting an answer.

“Very well… Warrior of Light. Let us linger less. But if you dare to vex me again, I'll venture to voice my lack of lenience to your lift-girl. A dump in the drink should douse your damned dignity!"

As with Baderon before me, my purple prose seemed to shift the sudden storm from his face, and his smooth, satisfied smile returned; a relief to both of us. “While I take and respect your meaning, milady, I must warn you that I am rather fond of fish. From a culinary perspective, of course. I’d prefer not to sleep with them. It’s embarrassing, if I’m being honest. You know what they say about cats and fish. I never hear the end of it.”

Duly divested of my petulant pique, I couldn’t conceal a chuckle as he acceded to action; in moments, he made idle inquiries of the innkeeper, pocketed the proffered key, and wound his way toward the Wench’s rented rooms, beckoning for me to bring up the rear. Judging from the jaunty way he trod the path with perfect poise, I had a hunch that Baderon housed us in a regular room that he kept ready for Raphail. The twin tankards of ale that awaited us, copious and chilled, confirmed my conjecture.

By the time we arrived at his abode, I had fain forgotten my fears in favor of function. How could it come to pass that the fool beneath the fair facade was - dare I decree? - eminently enjoyable? And yet, his eyes never erred in their elegance, despite all the bells we burned that night, and others. They remained the richest riddle of all.

FOOTNOTES

In the end, he was wed to his given word, and I had naught to doubt in his domain. The endless evenings we talked together, some in the same Lominsan lounge, and some in the quirky Quicksand of Ul’dah, teemed with tall tales that spanned continents, histories, and legends. Many of them might even have made sense. But the cat I came to care for over the years of our collaboration never ceased to cow me with the cleverness and courtesy of his mind.

Like the glittering gemstones that we so covet in Ul’dah, the luminous luster of his looks drew countless canny men and maidens to his side; but beneath the surface suffered the scabrous, sketchy, stone structure of a soul that had seen too much in its service to this struggling star - and, perhaps, to others.

And, with my words now written and composed into a coherent chronicle, I am at liberty to loose them upon you, ladies and gentlemen. As Raphail was always ready to remind me, it is but one woman’s legacy of a legend, and what you wrest from it will mean more than the words I have written. Perhaps, as I once penned, you doubt his defiance and decry him as a demon. Perhaps you simply seek a savior that saves souls in seductive style.

I cannot claim to know what this era will make of his tale. But… I believe in him.


	2. Distant Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphail arrives at his first interview session filled with foreboding. Starting at the beginning, for him, means dredging up memories too dear to forget and too agonizing to endure. Though the story of the family he lost is more his mother’s than his own, it is necessary to tell it in his own words, in order to set the stage.

“There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human, are created, strengthened and maintained.”  
—Winston S. Churchill

“Best to begin at the beginning,” she says.

She thinks she’s breaking the ice. She has no idea how hard the _beginning_ is, for someone like me. Even I don’t know when my story began. Waking up one day as the savior of… well, everything… doesn’t just happen. It’s insidious. Ephemeral. Like a dream that gets clearer as you get close to waking, only to realize you were never asleep in the first place.

The world is holding its breath for _you_.

_Rise and shine, little kitten._

But that’s not the answer the public wants, even if it is the truth. It’s unpublishable. _Unbearable._ This is the last place I would prefer to start… but I promised her the truth. At least now, someone else will remember it all happened. I have carried it alone for too long.

And so I start — at the beginning, as requested: one fine summer day, nestled in the shade of my family’s ocean-front cave, I escaped my poor mother’s womb and emerged, mewling, into the chaos of the world. Lili’s scowl says more clearly than her words that she expects less detail than _that_. I ignore the temptation to swat at the feathered end of her quill. I’m no mere animal, of course, and my dignity demands restraint, but most Eorzeans find it charming when I pretend. It’s such a habit now that “instinct” might be accurate. How unfortunate.

I lean back in my chair with a quiet sigh, setting aside the first of what I know will be multiple flagons of Baderon’s best for the night. I prefer to keep my mind and body alert, especially after… well, that _notable_ incident in Ul’dah, but tonight is a different story. A Warrior of Light must summon courage in the face of any fear, and I’m going to need every ounce of mine tonight, even if part of it comes in liquid form.

I have witnessed countless families torn apart by grief, betrayal, and hatred over the course of my work, and it is far easier to focus on their suffering than to shed light on my own.

My hands are already starting to shake.

I prefer to smile. To toss off some glib one-liner, and escape into my element of helping others.

But if I don’t start at the beginning, I’ll never make it to the end.

Lili senses something in my demeanor and decides not to urge me forward; the unexpected kindness is enough to steel my nerves for awhile. I want to mumble something about gratitude and rewarding it, but my restless mind is too eager to forge ahead — to get this _done_. The memories I recite in my head to keep them fresh feel as if they are weapons against an encroaching darkness, but I know that this foe is not one that I can slay with a sword and a fancy crystal. As with so many battles… the only way out is _through_.

I still can’t tell this story for my own sake. But I must be the voice for those that can no longer tell it themselves. That is one of the many duties of a Warrior of Light.

The real place to start, of course, is with _her_ name, not mine: my mother, Raph Sahra. By Miqo’te Keeper custom, everything begins and ends with the matriarchs — the way it should be, I think, though perhaps it’s only the way I was raised that makes me say so. I am the youngest of her litter; two females and six males in total, including me.

Lili gives me a skeptical _look_ over the top frame of her glasses; it isn’t hard to guess what she’s thinking. Any scholar and reporter worth her salt would know that Keeper women rarely have a need to number their sons. My mother always counted her uncanny “luck” as a blessing, but Keeper biology (and thus, culture) had evolved a strong preference for the fairer sex; most of those who crossed her path shared the bias. In light of that fact, joking about it would be crass.

Lili interjects on a different topic, inquiring whether my name ought to be Raphail Sahra by custom. I have to give the girl credit for picking up on that faster than most. It’s a good thing she doesn’t work for the Garleans. She’s right, of course — but it’s too soon for that discussion, and I tell her so. Unfazed, she returns to her pensive study of my words, doing her best not to look me in the eye. At first, I worry that I’ve scared her; then I remember her bashfulness after I cheered her up during our first meeting. Perhaps I laid it on a bit too thick.

As I return to the subject at hand, the enormity of the task ahead bears down on me. If she lets me, it will be easy to spend this first interview, and the next dozen, talking about my mother and siblings. This is, after all, meant to be an interview regarding _my_ life and _my_ circumstances, and I don’t want to bore the Mythril Eye’s readers with unnecessary detail. But every time I try to skip to the end of the story in my head, I find myself haunted by everything that I force myself to omit. Perhaps none of it will matter to them… but it matters to _me_. And it’s _me_ they’re interviewing.

“Sorry, Lili. Let me know when you get bored, okay? We’ll take a break.”

She tilts her head to the side, looking like a tiny, curious owl perched on the edge of her seat. “I’ve got billions of bells to burn. Talk and I’ll tarry as long as duty demands.”

_You have no idea what you’re in for. But let’s do this._

_Rise and shine, little kitten._

* * *

Though my littermates and I often came from different fathers, my mother made it clear to us that we were _hers_ — no matter how Fate chose to hand us to her. As the baby of the family, the story of my own birth did little to capture the enormity of the life she lived before me. By the time I entered the world, she had settled down in service to her family; or perhaps she had given up on the search for her own joy, after so many false starts. I’d never decided which.

Her first son, H’allaz, bore the blood, title, and sunny disposition of a Seeker; her childhood playmate and secret lover. Their short union ended with her lover’s death at the hands of a fellow tia seeking to gain favor with his nunh. She always said that looking at Allaz was like seeing his ghost returned from the dead. The rest of us had to shade our eyes from the brilliance of his light, but it was always a welcome task. His kindness and bravery made him a surrogate father for those of us that had none, and his pride in that role never faltered.

To ease my mother’s pain, and to support her budding family, her own mother urged her to settle down with a respectable Keeper twice her age. He’d never wanted a litter, but he got one anyway; my brothers Raph’to and Raph’li were his, as was my sister, Pahla. However, word began to spread about my mother’s unnatural penchant for birthing males. In the end, her mate refused to face life as the consort of a rumored enchantress and infidel. Raph’li’s birth was the final insult, and he disavowed us soon afterward. Pahla, at least, earned his acknowledgement. Without the monthly stipend he sent her for support, our family might well have starved.

Raph’to never came to terms with the clash between his father’s pride and our mother’s truth; though he shared in our lives, it was easy to see that part of him always wondered if the rumors were true. Raph’li blamed himself for everything, at first. It was Pahla that saved them both. Always kind to a fault, she was the spitting image of our mother, except for one major difference — her legendary shyness. She spent most of her father’s stipend on toys, gifts, and games for her brothers, ensuring their protection and distraction in regard to social events.

* * *

I am about to continue when Lili shifts in her seat, stretching her tiny shoulders against the backrest. She passes her quill to her opposite hand before opening and closing her now-empty palm a few times; I recognize the familiar gesture immediately. “I can slow down. Hand cramps won’t get this done, let alone the other work I’m sure you have piling up at the office.”

Her quill leaps back to her dominant hand at a speed worthy of a magician turning a trick; she’s embarrassed for some reason, trying to play it off with a grumble. “I perceived I’d be penning a pile, but I didn’t anticipate your _ample_ ancestry. I’m no genealogist.”

Then she pauses, frowning. “I thought I’d handled my homework, too… but my files failed to feature any citations of siblings. No relatives were recognized.” After a moment, she shrugs. “I suppose I didn’t search under Sahra. Only Somnalune.”

_That, and you probably didn’t look in the right place. A man of twenty-seven summers shouldn’t require extensive genealogical research in the section for death notices. And that assumes the scholars know about what happened in the first place. There are so many caves. So many Miqo’te. It likely didn’t even register as important to anyone else in the world._

I take a swig of ale from the flagon I set aside, reminding myself to relax my grip to avoid breaking the mug. The last thing I need right now is one of Baderon’s lectures, even if it’s well-meaning under the surface. Even if it would get me out of this.

“Ready to continue? We’re getting to the good part. I promise.”

Lili’s eyes widen for a moment at my words, and I realize that my attempt to keep my voice even and cheerful has fallen short of my aim. I’m a better actor than that, and I _know_ it, which only serves to encourage my souring mood. I grit my teeth and clear my throat to ground myself as she nods — slowly, as if seeing me for the first time. What a strange girl she is.

Still, her words, when she speaks, are kind. “T-Take your time. Truly.”

And so I do.

* * *

Next… came the _other_ Seekers. While my mother was out fishing one day, she found herself at the mercy of a Seeker hunting party. The acting nuhn, aware of her reputation and charmed by her beauty and skill, demanded at arrow-point that she agree to serve as one of his breeding wives. If she had been armed that day, things might have ended differently — but of course, she wanted what was best for her kittens. For us, she bore him two sons: A’vohl and A’kaja. Then, a daughter, A’seril. For the first time in her life, it was not a miracle.

Incensed by the so-called failure of his headstrong wife to produce further tia of his bloodline, our mother’s consort enlisted several of his sons by other wives in a plot to end her life as she slept. Fortunately for all of us, my mother was no fool. Upon discovering his treachery, she stalked out into the center of the tribal camp — in her underwear, or so my siblings claimed — in the middle of the night, and demanded a duel for the title of nunh. The bastard agreed, if only to make an example of her; my mother killed a man that night. Three days later, she left the tribe without a nunh, taking the title and her kittens with her. No one dared to stop her.

Vohl and Kaja, much to our mother’s disappointment, grew to have far more in common with their treacherous father than they did with her. Barely old enough to understand what had happened to his father and his tribe, Vohl became bitter and resentful of her role in his loss. Though he swore vengeance against her on multiple occasions, he never managed to follow through; a brisk swat on the tail with a pole and a stern lecture always ended his attempts at conquest. Kaja, by contrast, channeled his rage into a sadistic sense of humor. He could be reasoned with, after a fashion, but Vohl had more influence on him than the rest of us ever did.

Seril never knew her father; that fact made her the only one of his children to reject his ways and cling to our mother instead. Though his blood still ran hot and fierce in her veins, she turned it to more helpful ventures, like protecting the rest of us from her brothers. Making Pahla cry resulted in the harshest spats, and though Seril earned more than a few scars for her trouble, her efforts eventually taught them to behave — at least while she was in earshot.

And last, but not least… there was me.

* * *

I glance up at Lili, and my eyes have to refocus a bit from their intensive study of the floor before I can see her clearly. I still expect to see irritation or impatience, but her lips are pursed and her eyes are on the page in front of her; her quill fills her notebook with tidy scrawls. I recall her telling me once that she isn’t the sort of reporter that chronicles the ostentatious tales; perhaps I am in better hands than I fear. The sun outside the windows has passed its apex and beams in on us, highlighting the dust in the room and the passage of time. How long _have_ I been talking?

Lili stops her scribbling. “That can’t be comfortable. Cats, claws, and chairs mustn’t mix.”

All at once, I’m aware that I’ve been gripping the armrest of my chair while I talk. I don’t have feline _claws_ — my nails are clean and trim, and I say so! — but then I notice the tiny smirk working itself across Lili’s face. Was she… joking? I didn’t think she had it in her!

“So, spill it. How’d she happen to have _you_? Immaculate conception? Tricking the Twelve?”

I am in no mood to laugh, but I can’t help myself. My mother’s life _does_ sound like some kind of absurdist legend. By the Twelve, _she_ should have been a Warrior of Light, not me… she, and the rest of my siblings. It is the surest sign I can point to that life is not, and never will be, fair.

“I’m fresh out of tall tales. You’ll have to settle for the truth. I was what most people refer to as an ‘accident.’ A little fling to keep her engines running, or so she used to say.” I chuckled, shrugging; dwelling on my mother’s private affairs was a job for someone else. “She never married again, but… I guess that Keeper was in the right place at the right time. I’ve never met him. I don’t even know his name or face. She and the others were always enough for me.”

“She sounds like a lovely lady.”

Lili wears an expression quite unlike any of the ones I’ve seen from her before; kindness, mixed with a dose of something unfamiliar. I have to think before I can put my finger on it.

_Is that… pity? So she’s figured it out. Maybe I won’t have to say it after all._

“She’s… gone, I’m guessing. Otherwise you shouldn’t sound so sad.” Lili glances down at her papers, mulling something over. “The Calamity caused heaps of heartache, huh?”

It’s a reasonable assumption for her to make. There are even commonalities. The Calamity came and took everything from the world in one sudden, unexpected moment of chaos. The same kind of confluence, on a smaller scale, arrived at my doorstep one day. But in my case, the fire and brimstone lay buried beneath malms of endless ocean, right along with the drowned, forgotten remains of my mother, my brothers, and my sisters. All of them… except me.

The time for acting is over. Taking a deep breath, I allow the brash, playful mask I wear as a Warrior of Light to slip away, unneeded for this moment only. Every bit of my buried anguish comes naked and unadorned to my tongue as I struggle to choke out the words I have dreaded to utter since I first met Lili. My goal has always been to tell her the truth, and nothing but the truth. Now that I’ve started down this path — Twelve defend me — there’s no turning back.

“Not the Calamity. A storm. Just… a storm. It was _supposed_ to be sunny. She was out fishing. Allaz and Raph’to were with her. Pahla was crying, I don’t even remember why, and Seril was hunting either Vohl or Kaja down. Raph’li was trying to help Seril, but he was too afraid of what they’d do to him if he found them first, so he wasn’t trying very hard. And I… I wanted to go, but I was too young… so I sat in the back of the cave and read books about fishing instead. It was an ordinary day in the life of the Sahra litter. Everything was fine.”

I don’t even notice that Lili puts down her quill halfway through my outburst. My entire being is centered on shaping the words I’m forcing out before they collapse into useless nonsense. If only I’d found the courage to do a dry run of all of this in private, maybe I wouldn’t be such a mess now that the moment has arrived. But self-recrimination will have to wait. For now, there is only the room, and Lili, and the deafening echo of my own voice amidst the silence.

_Rise and shine, little kitten._


	3. Rise and Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first interview begins in earnest as Raphail forces himself to dive deep into the tragedy that ended his idyllic childhood. Though Lili does her best to bear witness, she is no substitute for the loss of so much and so many, even if it all happened twenty years ago. TAGS: minor character death, parent death, loss of parent(s), child death

“I'm a survivor. At least, that's what everyone tells me.”  
—Courtney Love

I snapped awake with a jolt, dropping Mama’s book into my lap. Still half-lodged in the dream I was having, my mind went in a dozen directions at once. Did I drop it in the water?! Had I ruined Mama’s notes on fishing?! She was gonna kill me, or maybe use my blood to make new ink — no, that was just what Vohl whispered in my ear at night, after we all went to bed. I found the book and held it tightly in my hands for reassurance. Everything was fine.

“Raph’ir. C’mon. We don’t have time for this.”

Allaz stood in the entrance of the cavern, one hand on his hip. I hadn’t noticed his arrival; the quiet reading spot I had chosen was at the very back of our family cave’s extensive network of twisting tunnels, set apart from the widest cavern that we used as our main living space. Because of the potential for getting lost or trapped somewhere, Mama taught us early to carry knives, even the smallest of us. If Allaz was an enemy, or a beast seeking refuge, I would be dead right now. Mama always said I should pay more attention to my surroundings.

“Pay attention. This isn’t good. If we don’t get out of here right now…“

I looked up at him as his voice echoed through the small, cozy cavern. The ever-sunny Seeker looked haggard and pale, his long blonde mane matted to his face with sweat, or maybe ocean. The tribal markings on his face seemed darker than usual. His chest and feet were still bare from fishing in the afternoon heat. Wait — hadn’t he and Raph’to been with Mama when she left? Were they back already?! I thought I was asleep for only a few minutes…!

I scrambled to my feet and hopped down from my perch atop the natural, elevated ledge that time had carved into the rock, book in hand. Allaz was the eldest, and I would do anything to please him. If something was wrong, I would help. All of us would — except maybe Vohl and Kaja. Maybe Mama fell in while she was fishing. Or maybe Raph’to. Less funny, but still worth seeing, even if he would sulk afterwards. I bet _he_ would have dropped Mama’s book, too. Frowning, I shoved her book into my tunic against my chest. It was the safest place I could think of to put it.

“Twelve damn it, Raph’ir, pull it together!”

Suddenly Allaz was behind me. His large yet gentle hands grabbed my shoulders and pushed me toward the cavern entrance. In that moment, both the tone and the import of his words landed. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d heard Allaz angry. Or was he… afraid?

Allaz wasn’t scared of _anything_. Not even Vohl and Kaja.

I tried to turn around and ask him what was going on, but he was too close and too insistent, herding me forward with his body as much as his voice. He still smelled like sunlight. In the distance, my sensitive ears picked up a low rumble that made him flinch.

“I need you to stay focused. No questions. No thinking. Only running. Can you do that?”

I nodded wordlessly, intending to obey, but my confusion held my feet fast to the ground beneath me. What was happening? What were we running from? Who was in trouble? It was Vohl. It had to be Vohl. Or maybe Pahla? Or maybe Kaja was hiding again. Or maybe—

“Rise and shine, little kitten.”

Allaz gave up trying to coax me into action. In the time it took me to blink, he crouched beneath me, hoisted me up onto his shoulders, and started to run.

At first I wanted to object, but he sounded pretty serious, and it was fun to feel the damp cave air rush past us as he made his way through the maze of near-indistinguishable dead ends and switchbacks that always dared us to pick the wrong path. He had given us plenty of rides for fun over the years, but something about this one felt different. I held onto his neck and braced myself for whatever would happen when the movement stopped. How could he run so fast and so far? Maybe, someday, he would show me.

The cave walls flew by, seeming endless — but eventually, twilight greeted us through the cave’s main entrance. My mind rebelled. Surely I hadn’t slept until almost _dark_! But as we emerged into the open air, I understood. Night was closer than I’d realized, but the massive thunderheads above us were thick enough to blot out the remains of daylight and the rising moon.

A blinding flash greeted us, and I ducked instinctively against the back of Allaz’s head as a resonant crash of thunder responded in kind. Mama had taught us about storms — she’d told us many times that our cave was at their mercy, and the fierce ones during summer always came on with very little warning. We normally waited them out in the deepest reaches of the cave, near my reading spot, singing and laughing together until sunrise. But the clouds weren’t their usual pretty shades of dark purple and grey today. They were almost black. The rain poured sideways. Allaz, the strongest of us, had to shift his weight to brace himself against the wind.

_No pause between the lightning and the thunder. He’s right. This isn’t good._

Allaz said something, but the wind tore it away before it could reach me. Then he started to move again, like a wall of stone against the storm. Every flash of lightning felt like it was aimed at our heels; every clap of thunder echoed through his body and into my bones. All around us, the forest trees began to fall, torn from the ground by the wind and set ablaze by lightning; he never stopped running. His neck grew slippery from the combination of sweat and rain; I grabbed his hair a few times by mistake, and he never said a word, or even flinched in pain.

Even then, I couldn’t believe how amazing he was.

He was out of breath and panting hard by the time we found the others; the coastline wasn’t the same as the one we’d left behind. Mama leaned over the water’s edge, trying to grab large pieces of driftwood while dodging waves that rose to her knees. Raph’to and Raph’li gathered smaller branches nearby. She ordered them to stay inland, of course; I saw the line she drew in the sand to keep them honest, though the water had filled much of it in again. The girls collected heavy rocks. Seril was in her element, carrying twice as many as Pahla with ease.

Vohl and Kaja were helping too, though Vohl’s expression looked as if Mama had forced him to swallow coeurl dung instead. He smirked at Allaz as we approached, his bright, spiky hair and facial markings befitting his boisterous personality even against the backdrop of the storm.

“ _Finally_. Think you’re too good to nick branches, _stray_? Put the brat down and quit playing the hero. There’s work to do. My arms are tired already.”

Even exhausted, Allaz never raised his voice at Vohl’s insults. He was the only one of us to know better. “Less talking, more lifting. Or did you want to be nuhn from the bottom of the sea?”

Kaja failed to stifle his laughter, and Vohl turned his withering glare on his brother before sighing and shrugging it off. “Whatever. Not like I’d care if you died anyway.”

Mama turned to face us, her arms laden with branches and her lips locked into a thin, even line. Her eyes narrowed at Vohl. _Uh-oh._ All of us knew _that_ look. She stalked over to Vohl and thrust her bundle of branches into his arms without waiting to see if he grabbed it. I thought he might drop the branches to spite her, but then I realized his bare feet would have paid the price. When her eyes locked with his, even the storm grew quiet for the span of a breath.

“Don’t _ever_ let me hear you say that again. Do you understand me?”

He was a tyrant, like his father before him, but even Vohl didn’t dare face her head-on when she looked like that. None of us wanted to imagine a day when he could. “Sure. _Mother_.”

She ignored his snide emphasis, favored me with a hurried smile, and went back to her duty. “Allaz. Put Raph’ir somewhere safe and help me. We need to get all this back to the cave. The fish left here hours ago, and unless I miss my guess…”

Shielding her eyes from the rain with a hand, her gaze drifted skyward, and for one terrifying moment, I saw her shoulders tremble as she swallowed hard. Her hands were scratched bloody from handling the rough wood. How had I not noticed before?

“…we’re going to need this barricade, and fast.”

Twenty summers later, I realized it was the moment she knew we were too late.

Somewhere behind us, Pahla picked up the tenor of Mama’s voice and the stray tension in the air and bit her lip, fighting tears. Seril looked at her, frowned for a moment, and tried to follow in her big brother’s footsteps. After multiple failed attempts to lift a girl nearly twice her age in summers onto her shoulders, she gave up — but she made Pahla giggle anyway, restoring a momentary peace to the expanding chaos around us.

We all did our best to carry as much as we could, even me. Dragging a piece of wood twice my weight behind me, I left a winding, haphazard trail in the sand. Raph’li began to sing as we hiked, and the rest of us joined in the chorus; Vohl and Kaja changed some of the lyrics to less appropriate forms, but Raph’to offered to carry part of their loads himself if they shut up instead. He always was the peace-maker of the family, and I was doubly glad for it that day.

Mama’s intended shortcut back to the cave through the forest was the same one Allaz had taken, but she couldn’t have anticipated the widespread destruction wrought by the storm. The trees kept falling, forcing countless deviations and detours along the way; what had been a challenging run for him the first time left all of us exhausted. We had to stop and rest several times, taking precious minutes that added up faster than she could have predicted. In the end, the forest terrain posed more of a risk than the rising waves, and she herded us back to the coast, hoping to travel the rest of the distance back home by way of the innermost edge.

Another hour could have made all the difference, but the Twelve had other plans for us as dusk gave way to darkness.

It happened all at once. We were still a malm or two away from home, though I could have sworn I saw the shape of our cave in the distance. Kaja let out a scream of panic that none of us could have imagined coming from the family clown. The sound froze us in our tracks; Mama turned to find him pointing at a series of incoming waves that threatened to break well above the height of her head. They even dwarfed Allaz, who stood head and shoulders taller than she. Trapped between the waves and the burning forest, it was clear even to me that we were about to go under. Even running wouldn’t be enough to save us.

Allaz muttered a curse under his breath. Mama didn’t bother to chastise him. Vohl dropped his branches in place, his feral eyes as wide as teacups. Seril glared, convinced in her innocence that her will could stop it from coming. Pahla sucked in her cheeks and hovered, uncertain, in front of Raph’to and Raph’li; her eyes were dry and bright. I wrapped my arms around myself, hyper-aware of Mama’s precious fishing log stowed away in my tunic. Could I keep it from getting wet? I hadn’t finished it yet, so when I got home, I’d have to make time to—

Mama and Allaz moved in unison, and for a split second, I saw the truth of what she’d always claimed; though he was her firstborn son, it was like watching two lovers dance in the moonlight. Neither seemed to need words. They knew each other’s minds and hearts, and in that moment, they’d seized upon the same purpose; the same intent. Even Vohl, I think, held his breath for a moment as they stepped in front of all of us, bracing so hard that their feet dug into the mud. They spread their arms wide, fingers nearly touching, eyes locked on the horizon.

Then the waves crashed upon us, tearing our breath from our lungs.

It was futile, of course. They both knew it. But I’ll never forget how hard they _tried_.

The vicious undertow dragged us across the yalms of sandy beach and into the depths of the ocean. We all knew how to swim, but none of it prepared us for something so _big_. I fought to rise and break the surface of the water countless times, but it took all of my strength; quick, desperate breaths were all I managed before the waves pulled me back under. Somewhere nearby, I heard Pahla doing the same; her shrill screams split the air, interspersed with abrupt, painful silences as the waves overpowered her. I caught a glimpse of Kaja trying to grab Vohl’s hand; they weren’t strong enough to cling together for long. Allaz yelled for Mama to breathe in the distance. Raph’to, Raph’li, and Seril almost made it to the shore, but a second wave left them further out than they were before.

Even now, I don’t recall how long we fought to survive. I only knew that all around me was water and sky, intermingled and twisted, one into the other, forever. The lack of air, and the pain in my lungs, and the emptiness in my heart made me certain that I was about to die.

Mama, Allaz, Raph’to, Raph’li, Pahla, Vohl, Kaja, Seril… we were _all_ going to die, and that left me even more breathless than the churning depths.

What could I do to help? What could I possibly do…?!

Then the chaos parted. A large hand grabbed the back of my tunic and _pulled_ , nails scraping against the back of my neck and leaving scratches that stung in the seawater. Even in the midst of disaster, my mind yet wanted to believe this was one of Vohl’s jokes; maybe he was pushing me down to make fun of me. But Vohl wasn’t strong enough for this, and I wasn’t being pushed down; I was… flying. Much like when I rode on Allaz’s shoulders. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

I opened my eyes, blinking away the water, and watched as Allaz hauled me out of the surf and up the beach, back toward the forest’s edge. The look on his face… I can’t describe it, even today. He looked haggard before, but he had become a man ten times his sixteen summers. Seaweed, dirt, and twigs were tangled in his mane and tail, making him look like a strange creature from one of Mama’s stories. His tail hung lifelessly, much like Vohl’s or Kaja’s after a stern lecture from Mama; it should have been upright and bold, befitting his nature. The legs of his breeches were torn up from rocks and branches. He was as bloody as Mama.

I tried to thank him, but my voice wasn’t working quite right; he turned his back to me, already focused on something else amongst the ocean waves. Squinting, I tried to make out what he was looking at, but the water was too rough and the waves were still too high. Further along the coast, I could see Mama’s silhouette in the sand, leaning over what looked like Vohl and Raph’li. Behind them, I thought I could make out the distant shapes of Kaja, Raph’to, and Pahla. That left Seril… the one that had dared the waves with her glare.

My heart began to race at the exact moment that Allaz sighted what he was looking for in the water. He rushed back toward the surf, ducking beneath the crashing waves without a moment of hesitation. Seeing his legendary bravery in action, away from the comfortable motions of our normal family life, made me anxious. Why didn’t Mama stop him? She always said he was too reckless, like his papa. Like her. But there she lay, silent and unmoving, next to the others. It was too quiet… and getting quieter every moment that Allaz was gone.

I staggered to my feet, cupped my hands around my mouth, and yelled in a high-pitched voice that shattered from the strain. “Mama! Allaz is playing in the water again!”

She didn’t even look at me. She _had_ to have heard me… didn’t she?

My hands balled into fists at my side, and I started to march toward them all as panic rose in my throat. I made it about a yalm or two before Allaz broke the surface of the water behind me. The smile of relief that made its way to my face died in an instant when I realized he wasn’t alone. In his arms, he carried something small, silent, and motionless with broad shoulders, lanky legs, and hair the color of a new sunrise. Seril wasn’t much older than I was, but I would know her anywhere. As still as she was, though, she didn’t register as my sister at first.

Allaz glanced at Mama and the others, then slowly looked back to me, his expression unreadable. For the first time in my life, he didn’t look like the hero I knew him to be. He looked defeated. Broken. Helpless. By the time he reached my side, still holding Seril tight to his chest, I knew in my heart what he was going to say — but I wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“S-She’s gone, Raph’ir. I’m… so sorry. I… didn’t make it in time.”

His voice wasn’t his own. The calm, patient tenor that never failed to soothe our wounds was gone, replaced with the weight of the world. I did my best to focus on his words instead of Seril’s face. If not for all the water, dirt, and ocean debris, she might have been taking a nap. Any moment, she would wake up and threaten to punch us if we didn’t leave her alone.

If we waited, and stayed patient and quiet, maybe—

“R-Raph’ir. Listen to me. Please. You need t-to understand. Mama’s… t-they’re all…”

My ears and my heart both closed at the same time.

_No. No, no, no, no, no. it’s not true. I won’t believe it. I won’t!_

Allaz lowered poor, silent Seril to the ground and reached out a trembling hand to my shoulder, but I twisted away as if his touch had burned me. Then I ran across the sand to the safety of Mama’s arms. Regret and shame for how I reacted came later, once I calmed down, but in that moment, the ignorant, terrified, and grieving child in me took over. He followed me for a few steps, concerned and dutiful even as I rejected his comfort, but the adrenaline rush that gave him the strength to pull us all free of the water left him unable to chase me in its wake. I heard him call out behind me, but I didn’t hear his words, or even look back.

Mama lay lifeless and empty at my feet, just as Allaz claimed. No wonder she hadn’t heard me. Up close, I could see that she had her arms wrapped around Vohl; her head rested over his heart. Tears had dried on her face in the wind; the tracks were still visible down her cheeks. One of her hands made a fist; the other hung limply at her side. Allaz couldn’t have dragged them both from the waves in that position. She must have collapsed from the shock of finding Vohl. I thought my heart couldn’t break any further, but seeing her love for him — despite everything, even to the very end — was too much, and I started to wail.

If Vohl was alive to see her, he would have screamed, or thrown things, or called us names. That fact told me for sure that he wasn’t. As much as I hated him sometimes, and as much as I had often wished for him to disappear, it all seemed so foolish standing next to his empty shell. Kind, quiet Raph’li, lying next to him, looked like he’d suffered before he died. His face was still twisted in pain and fear, and one of his legs bent at an impossible angle, broken by one of the waves. I wanted to believe he was just annoyed at being close to Vohl, but the logical part of my mind accepted what the rest wouldn’t. He’d deserved so much better.

A few ilms away, tucked into the long shadow of Mama’s body, were Raph’to and Pahla. Like Mama, Pahla clung to her older brother with all her strength, trying to hold him together with everything she had, even in death. My innocent, delicate, crybaby sister had given her life trying to protect her brother… or could she have panicked in her final moments, trying to pull him down into the depths to save herself? In the end, it didn’t matter, but I remembered how she looked in the moment before the waves overtook us. She hadn’t cried, that time. She was prepared to protect us all. Maybe Mama and Allaz had taken the idea from her.

Kaja lay further up the coast, with a scowl on his face that would have served his brother far better. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him without a smug grin or a smirk across his face, always at someone else’s expense. In death, he looked like a kitten again. My mind flashed back to the countless times that Mama and the rest of us had found him near the water’s edge, trying to escape a lecture or an invitation to join in one of Vohl’s wicked plots. The water he so loved had betrayed him. It betrayed all of us.

And now, everyone… was dead. Forever. It was the only thing I understood.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear Allaz come up behind me for the second time that day. I couldn’t look at him, but I _felt_ him kneel down to my height; his strong arms surrounded me. When he spoke, it was not far above a whisper.

“I… If only I’d been faster… they’d still…”

He buried his face in my back, his body wracked with silent sobs, and it reminded me of how I’d done the same to him, trying to escape the thunder and lightning. The bolts still streaked across the sky, but the thunder left several seconds of quiet between us, and the waves no longer threatened to engulf the entire coast in their wrath.

“Raph’ir… d-do you think… they hate me? Do you hate me?”

Part of me wanted to hate him, though I didn’t want to admit it. It would have been easy to blame him for everything that had happened. He was the hero that all of us looked up to; he had earned Mama’s respect and trust after sixteen summers, not just her love. But when it mattered most, the waves had bested him for the first and final time. How could we survive? Where would we go now? All because he hadn’t made it in time. What good was being a hero if you _failed_?

But I remembered how kind he was, when he came to find me. I remembered how he blocked the oncoming waves with his body, like Mama. He did everything he could to try to protect us. To save eight people, and himself, in such a situation… he would have had to have magic, or _be_ magic - like a powerful wizard from one of Mama’s stories. And yet, against impossible odds, he’d thrown himself into the fray without hesitation. For us. For me.

I turned to face him, and in the moment our eyes met, I realized how much like Mama he looked. Now that she and the others were gone, he was the only way I’d ever see her again, outside of looking in a mirror. He could carry her blood. I would carry her name.

The guilt etched into his face didn’t belong there. Mama would never allow it.

“Don’t _ever_ let me hear you say that again. Do you understand me?”

Somewhere beneath the pain and exhaustion, I felt him chuckle and nod in recognition of Mama’s earlier words, but it left both of us crying even harder than before. I stood there in his embrace for what seemed like hours, watching as the storm continued to grow distant and quiet. Eventually, his legs wouldn’t hold him up anymore; we collapsed to the sand.

Then we slept, and dreamed of nights around the campfire that we never thought could end.


	4. Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first interview continues, leaving behind the shadows of Raphail’s darkest past — but more is yet to come, and the sudden burden of survival weighs heavy on young Raphail’s shoulders. With his oldest brother and hero by his side, he faces the coming darkness with all the bravery he can muster, hoping it will be enough to stem the tide.

Home is a name; a word. It is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.  
—Charles Dickens

When I woke next, the sun had raised its head over the horizon. I mumbled something incoherent as a greeting for Allaz, only to realize he wasn’t by my side. In light of everything that had happened, it bothered me more than it should have, and I leapt to my feet despite the hour and the lingering ache in my heart. The sand around me was clear; Mama and the others were gone, too. Had it all been some kind of terrible dream?

A scraping sound from behind me interrupted my panic. Turning to face it, I found Allaz wielding what looked like our family’s shovel, digging a deep pit into the sand next to Mama and the others. He had lined them up so perfectly that they almost looked like dolls. A few other stray objects littered the sand around him. Was that Mama’s twine for cooking roasts? And a small wooden lockbox with a hinged lid. Pahla, the baker of the family, always made bread every morning and tucked it into that box. All at once, I realized how hungry I was.

Allaz stuck his shovel into the sand and dragged the back of his arm across his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’d used part of the twine to tie his hair out of his way while he worked. Behind him, I could see a large, rectangular platform built from logs and seaweed, reinforced with more twine. He was the best craftsman of any of us. Even Vohl let him build the forts when we played together, though I knew he was secretly trying to learn how to copy them.

“What’s that? Are we building a fort?”

He chuckled, and I was relieved by the return of the sun to his voice. He still seemed too tired and sad to be truly himself, but my heart skipped a beat when I recalled how heartbroken he’d been the night before. I never wanted to see him that way again.

“Not exactly, kitten. Let’s say our farewells before we get to that, okay?”

He gestured to Mama and the others, and it dawned on me that he was digging a grave. I frowned, torn between the impulse to help him protect them for the last time, and a foolish sliver of hope that maybe, if we didn’t put them into the ground, they might still wake up and things would go back to normal. I knew better, though, and forced myself to nod.

A hint of relief passed across his face - he’d anticipated having to convince me, apparently - and he reached down to hand me the lockbox at his feet.

“Here. I’ll lift them in. You should put something in your belly. Only a little, though. I couldn’t save much from the pantry, so we’re going to have to live off this for awhile.”

I opened the lid of the box, and hot tears stung the corners of my eyes as the expected, familiar scent of Pahla’s bread wafted through the air. Mama always made the best stew to go with it, and Raph’li always put sugar and wild berries on it for dessert. Knowing that the half-loaf inside was the last I would ever taste of it seemed almost as cruel as losing them. Using my knife to carve off a chunk, I wished I’d paid more attention to how she’d put her ingredients together. When I got older, I’d have to see if I could make it for her. Allaz could help, too.

It took Allaz some time to lower each of the bodies into the grave. I sat down in the sand, mulling over his comments as I ate and watched the sun rise. He’d been to the cave and back already? I thought we were asleep for most of the night, but that platform hadn’t built itself. That meant Allaz was running on fewer hours of sleep than I was. Mama wouldn’t like that at _all_. Still, if he’d been inside the cave, that meant it wasn’t underwater. We could still live there, picking up the pieces of what we’d lost and turning them into something new. That… might be fun.

I returned my attention to Allaz, who was placing Mama on top of the other kittens. They formed a sturdy, haphazard pile that seemed to sum up our family; a little rough around the edges, never quite fitting together perfectly, but always, always moving as one. Allaz paused to gaze thoughtfully at his handiwork too; the look on his face said he was having the same misgivings that I was, even at his age. It made me feel a little better about being so foolish.

Then he sighed and set his jaw, resigned to necessity.

“I’ve… never been good with words, y’know. Mama was the clever one, not me. I’m better when I can do something, or change something, or be something that’s needed.” He closed his eyes, making it difficult to read his expression. “I knew them the longest. You’d think I could find something to say to them, now that they’re gone. But it’s… so hard.”

His eyes opened again, a silent plea for help unspoken in the void he’d left for me. At first, I wanted to run away; to reject the trust and the faith he’d placed in me. But I also knew what he was trying to say. He was not clever… but I was. Like Mama. And I could use that to bring peace to this tragedy in a way that he, the hero of our family, could not.

Even at my age, I could do something to help.

“Um.”

It was an ignominious start to everything I wanted to say. But it was all I had, at first. Running a hand through my hair in annoyance, I tried my best to focus my thoughts enough to speak. The words came, in the end, but cleverness didn’t help me find them. Honesty was the key.

“Bye, everyone. We’ll miss you. We… already miss you. B-But… it’ll be okay, right? Seril, no punching anyone. Kaja… um, don’t tell Mama, but some of your jokes were kinda funny. Vohl… I hope you learn to be nice someday. Pahla, help me figure out your recipe so I can make your bread once I’m allowed to touch the oven! Raph’li, you were the best singer, but… I’ll try to get better, so listen, okay? Raph’to… I know you’ll make sure they behave in there.”

I paused, feeling my throat get tight; the words were tumbling out as fast as I thought of them, and it was getting harder and harder to speak. Allaz’s eyes were closed again, and his knuckles were white around the handle of his shovel. Silent tears dripped into the sand beneath him.

“And Mama… we’ll make you proud. So watch over us. P-Please.”

I lowered my gaze to my lap, my entire body shaking, and Allaz nodded slowly, lowering one of his big hands to the top of my head and ruffling my hair in a wordless gesture of thanks. After a few moments of silence, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“Well said, kitten. Well said.”

And then he brushed the tears from his face, turned his back to me, and began to return the sand to the pit. Unable to watch my family slowly disappear in front of me for the last time, I sat at his feet and listened to each scoop of the shovel instead, trying to maintain my composure. I didn’t want them to see me cry, even if I wanted to. Even if Allaz had, already.

The lullaby that Mama sang to me as a kitten echoed in my head.

Raph’to’s kindness filled my heart. Raph’li’s songs gave me focus.

The scent of Pahla’s bread still lingered on my breath.

Vohl’s torment made me strong. Kaja’s jokes made me laugh.

And Seril’s bravery gave me hope for the future.

They would live on, if only through the two of us that remained.

When he’d finished filling in the hole and flattening out the top, Allaz dug the shovel into the unbroken surface, leaving the handle protruding an arm’s length out of the sand. It was a poor substitute for a proper headstone, but it was all we had to give them. I hoped they’d approve.

I expected him to sit down and take a break, but he glanced up at the sky instead; his ears twitched a couple of times, and a grimace worked itself across his face.

“Hey, Raph’ir. I think it’s time to play with that fort now.”

There was an odd look in his eyes, but we had both just said farewell to the family that we’d lost during the night before; fool that I was, I never thought to ask him about it. I hopped to my feet, excited for the chance to lay aside the weight of our grief and play with my brother again; the only brother I had left. It seemed a little bit wrong to play without the others, at first, but Allaz’s sunny smile put me at ease and chased my worries away. He had everything under control. Maybe he couldn’t have saved Mama… but he was still a hero anyway.

I scampered after him as he picked up the large platform he’d built, but I still didn’t understand his intentions for it. Even my five summers afforded me the knowledge that forts required _multiple_ walls to stand erect. He didn’t show any signs of putting down the platform, either. A fort in the air was ridiculous, even for him; when he wasn’t being serious for the sake of helping Mama, he could be just as silly as a kitten half his age. It made all the girls trip over themselves, or so Raph’to always said. Allaz turned red every time, for some reason.

Wait… he’d said it wasn’t a fort, hadn’t he? Oh well.

“So what are we gonna do with _that_ thing?”

I pointed to the platform, and a sloppy, careless grin found its way onto his face. It might have been more at home on Vohl or Kaja, but I knew it was his _playtime_ face.

“Sorry to get you all excited for nothing, but I think you’re going to like this as much as you like my forts. This here… is our brand new front door. Made by yours truly. Say hello!” 

He gave me an exaggerated, comedic bow, trying to keep up the game, but I still didn’t understand. Our cave had never needed a front door, and I told him so.

“Now, now. Be nice to the door. I put a lot of work into this thing. You did, too, though you probably don’t know it. I had to borrow one of your tail hairs to make it hold together.”

“Hey!” I glared at him, indignant for the sake of my tail; when had he managed to pull out a hair? I must’ve been sleeping harder than I realized…!

If he heard me, he gave no indication of it. “Besides… this is a special door. If we treat it nice… it might help us go back home. Wanna help me find out?”

I was about to volunteer to carry the twine and Pahla’s box when Allaz shifted the platform — er, door, apparently — to block the rising sun from his eyes. The unexpected motion cued me to glance upward into the sky; thick, black clouds gathered in the opposite direction. How had I managed not to notice them before? I could feel the blood starting to drain from my face.

Something occurred to me. I hadn’t considered it at the time, thanks to the chaos of last night’s events, but we’d gone _outside_ instead of hiding in the back of the cave. That wasn’t what Mama said we should do during storms at _all_. So why, then, had we hiked to that unfamiliar section of beach to look for rocks and branches? Why hadn’t we stayed inside?

Maybe, if we’d done what Mama said, nobody would have died. But… she came, too. Why would she have broken her own rules? It wasn’t right. Nothing made any sense.

I tucked the box and the twine into one arm, leaving my other hand free to twist itself around some of the shredded cloth from Allaz’s breeches. I knew all too well now that holding on wouldn’t save me from anything if the storm returned, but it was better than waiting and wondering what would happen next by myself. What if we didn’t make it home in time — again?

Above me, Allaz sighed; the sunlight in his face had faded again, and he looked as resigned as he had over our family’s grave. The game, it seemed, was over before it had even begun.

“Heh. I _did_ say you were the clever one. Kinda hoped you wouldn’t notice that. C’mon, kitten. I’ll explain things as we walk, okay? Let’s go.”

He talked the entire way back to the cave, his voice even, calm, and serious despite the rising sense of panic that I now know he must have felt.

He did a good job of explaining things. It was almost enough to calm my fears.

* * *

Lili continues to scribble in her book, focused on immortalizing my words as I spill them out. My most recent flagon of ale is empty. While that is, perhaps, in my best interest, it will not afford me the strength I need to finish my story. The dampness on my cheeks already tells me that I haven’t made it through this part of my tale intact; I didn’t think I would, so it comes as no surprise. There’s a reason I don’t tell these things to every villager I meet.

The worst part is over, but the final knife in the dark remains, tucked behind the distant curtains of a stage I never planned to perform on. Lili can sense it, I think; she won’t look at me, and I can see that the level of her own glass of ale has dropped an ilm or two since I last saw it. Maybe it is best to keep forging ahead, for both of our sakes.

No matter how my voice shakes when I speak.

“According to Allaz, my mother sensed that storm that hit us early. She was always good at reading the weather, but she couldn’t predict the future. She, Allaz, and Raph’to came back from their fishing trip when they realized things were getting bad, and she got the older kittens together to hunt down materials to build a barricade.”

I stare into the bottom of my flagon, watching the last tiny drops of ale drift around as I talk. “Most of the storms that hit us before that point weren’t fierce enough to run the risk of flooding in the deepest sections of the cave. She suspected _that_ one might be, though, so she wanted the barricade to protect us. Even if it wouldn’t have kept everything from getting wet, it could have prevented the waves from taking us like they did.”

Lili nods, giving me a vague sound to convey her understanding of the situation, and I continue. “Building it was supposed to be fast, but the rough surf had already pushed most of the useful driftwood and rocks away from our side of the coast. They had to start hiking to find more, and… well, either the storm built faster than she expected, or the hiking took longer. Maybe both. She never said anything about it where Allaz could hear her.”

I watch as Lili turns her current page over and begins to write across the back. “She sent Allaz and Raph’to back for us younger kittens when the storm started to change for the worst. She was afraid they might not make it back in time with the barricade, and if they didn’t, then there was a good chance we would get trapped in the cave as it flooded all the way through.”

A wry smile crosses my face. “She didn’t want us to drown, so she took a chance on being able to protect us until we got home. it didn’t change anything. She must have been so… angry.”

I lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes; the lanterns around the inn room are too bright now for my tired, red-rimmed eyes to tolerate.

“Allaz wasn’t as good at reading the signs as she was, but he picked up enough of them to know that another storm was coming. He stayed long enough for me to fall asleep that night, and then he hiked the rest of the way to the cave to assess its condition. He didn’t want to leave me alone for long, so it was a quick trip, but at least the cave wasn’t underwater. It was wet though. All the way to the back. We weren’t sure at the time, but it proved Mama’s theory.”

A crisp, yet polite and quiet, knock at the door interrupts me. I sit up straight, my heart in my throat and my hand on the hilt of my rapier; if the Scions need my attention, I’m in no condition to lend a hand right now. Baderon should know to run interference for me, after this many years! And yet, disaster waits for no man, least of all the drunk and heartsick. I will myself to focus through the fog, unable to fathom how I’m going to play the hero this time.

Which primal is it _now_? Leviathan? Titan? Given my luck, I expect a second _Bahamut_!

Lili rises and answers the summons as I panic. The door swings open at a gentle angle, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of one of Baderon’s familiar serving girls outside; she’s carrying a tiny tray bearing two small flagons of ale. She has to bend over double to hand it to Lili. Lili struggles to hand her something I can’t make out while balancing the tray, and shuts the door with her foot before making her way back to me. I watch her hoist the drinks up to the table at my level with both hands, amazed; for a scholar, she’s far stronger than I expected her to be.

“My treat. I can only carry a couple of cups, though.”

She’d handed the serving girl her gil pouch, of course. She must have ordered those while I was busy talking; I hadn’t noticed a thing. Twenty summers later, I _still_ pay as much attention to my surroundings as a kitten of five — or is it the alcohol talking? I hope it’s the alcohol talking.

I try to thank her, but I can’t. The relief that floods my body in the remarkable absence of another crisis right now is enough to make me feel dizzier than the ale, and my words come out in an awkward jumble that makes no sense, even to me.

For a moment, she smiles, almost as if she understands me; then I notice that something in her eyes is sad and apologetic. She returns to her seat, taking up her previous post with aplomb.

“Slow down, silly. Drink as deep as you dare, then relax and relay the rest.”

Being the Warrior of Light, I am prone to overzealousness; I attempt to follow all of her orders at the same time. Lili rolls her eyes, but makes no attempt to stop me as I wade back into my tale.

I’ll have to thank her _properly_ later, with words that suit the hero I’m supposed to be.

* * *

My legs were tired by the time we arrived at the cave’s entrance. Allaz said that we were closer to it than he expected when the first storm hit, even if I’d misjudged being able to actually see it in the distance. He’d already seen it for himself, of course, so his eagerness to rush inside paled in comparison to mine; he lowered the barricade down to the ground with a grunt, already focused on measuring it with his eyes against the width of the entrance for fit. I let go of him for the first time since we started our walk and made my way inside.

The first few passageways leading to our living space seemed little different than they had before. Rocks, seaweed, and other debris had gathered as the waves ran through them, but that happened with most storms of any size. The wet dirt on the ground seemed too perfect and smooth, pressed flat by the waves; footprints in nine different sizes should have left their marks. I stopped to press the sole of my boot into a thicker part of the mud, but it clung to me, leaving nothing but a shapeless void instead of a print. It made me angrier than it should have.

I stomped the rest of the way to the living area, unprepared to lay my eyes on what remained of the home I’d once known. All the pieces were still there; driftwood furniture built by Allaz and Raph’to, hand-dyed blankets and pillows sewn by Pahla and Mama, various toys that the youngest kittens shared with me on days when the rain made the outdoors feel unwelcome. All of it had been flung against the walls, torn and shattered with force that my mind couldn’t begin to comprehend, leaving the center of the room blank and barren of life.

An image of Raph’li’s twisted, injured leg came unbidden to my mind, and I swallowed hard against the forming lump in my throat. If Mama hadn’t tried to rescue us… maybe things would have been worse after all. Maybe _all_ of us would have died instead.

A pile of water-logged books in the corner caught my attention, and I squatted next to them, trying to read their titles through the wreckage; the blurry, wet pages tore into pulpy mush when I tried to separate them. I could make out one, though: Vohl’s drawing book. The giant KEEP OUT message he’d scrawled across the front still bore some resemblance to the original. Picking it up, I could see that the waves had opened it to a barely-preserved drawing of the eight of us; he always left Mama out. All of us Keepers had devil horns.

I didn’t want to, but I ended up laughing far harder than I should have. Allaz found me still snickering in the middle of the room, gazing at the drawing as if it were some sort of special treasure. Perhaps it was unflattering, and a bit mean… but it was still him. Still _us_.

“Maybe he was right.” I looked up at Allaz, handing him the sodden mess of book. “Maybe we were cursed. Maybe we did something so bad that devils came, and—”

“No.” Allaz’s voice was firm but gentle as he took the book from me and laid it on top of a broken log, out of the water’s path. “Mama taught you about storms, didn’t she? You know how strong they are all by themselves. Don’t let your mind trick you, kitten. We didn’t do anything wrong. There were no curses or devils. That’s… what makes it all so sad.”

He paused for a moment, and then smiled, though it never quite reached his eyes. “That was pretty funny though, huh? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kinda hope you have at least a little bit of devil in you after all. We’re going to need that kind of luck, and soon.”

I was about to ask him what he meant when a low, distant rumble made the walls of the cavern shake, the same way they had the night before. There was no mistaking it this time; the storm was preparing for another chance to take what it had left behind.

Allaz set his jaw in place, his gaze straying toward the passageway leading to the entrance. Watching his tail twitch back and forth to a rhythm only he could sense made me nervous.

“Did you put the barricade up?”

His nod was the only indication he had heard me at all. “I wish I had time to make it stronger, though. It should hold, I think, but maybe I could have reinforced the…”

He started to pace around the room as he muttered to himself, and I lost track of the finer points of his concern. Seeing him restless again brought back painful memories of the night before. What happened to us… it wasn’t right, or fair, or good. It was sad, like he’d said. But for all of it to happen again, less than a day’s length from the last? If it wasn’t devils, then…

“Why?”

I didn’t articulate my question well, but it didn’t matter; another clap of thunder echoed through the cave, louder than before. It was too much for me, and I rushed over to Allaz, hovering behind him as if he himself were the barricade holding the ocean at bay. Together, we watched in silence as a slow, gentle trickle of water flowed in through the deeper cracks of the passageway, threatening to make its way into the living area. I could feel Allaz holding his breath; he let it out slowly as the water receded again without incident.

Mama always said if we could see the water coming, it was time to go deeper.

I was about to say so when Allaz turned to me and knelt down, looking me in the eye. “Listen to me, kitten. For things like this… there’s no answer to that question.” Somehow, he’d heard me, and knew what I meant to say. “Knowing why things happen is important, but sometimes what matters most is how you respond to the things you don’t understand. This is one of those times.”

“I don’t get it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re not making any sense.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the happy, playful smile I expected from him. It made him look older, and sadder, like he had when Mama—

“Sorry. It’s… a lot for a kitten to understand. I wish I could explain it better. Someday, when we get out of here, I promise we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

It was a question, but unlike most questions he asked, he didn’t wait for an answer. “For now, you know what Mama says — um, said — about seeing the water. It’s time to move. Need a lift?”

He didn’t stand up, and I realized he was waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders again. Still confused by his words, and distracted by a glimpse of the water returning — in and out once again — I let him hoist me up, trusting his legs to hold me more than my own. Once he’d adjusted to my extra weight, he grabbed Pahla’s box, then reached for Vohl’s drawing book. I’d thought he might leave it behind, but he tucked it under one arm, guarding it as best he could. Knowing it was there managed to bring a smile to my face, despite my fears.

We made our way through the switchbacks and down into the depths of the cave; the handful of landmarks I recognized reassured me that we were heading toward the small alcove I’d chosen as my reading spot the day before. The thunder grew more distant as we traveled, though I could still feel it shaking everything around us from time to time. Like Allaz had said, this part of the cave was still damp from the previous storm, but only debris harried our steps. I couldn’t help imagining the ocean filling everything up around us. What if Mama was right?

At last, we arrived at our destination. Allaz tucked Vohl’s book and Pahla’s box up onto the ledge I’d left behind yesterday, then placed me next to them. The sense of being in the same place all over again bothered me more than I knew how to express, and I scowled down at the dirt coating the rocks, using a finger to trace patterns into it. The flowing water was nowhere to be seen, though I still thought I could hear it, and the walls only shook a little. I might have believed I was imagining it all, but Allaz’s ears still twitched in response to each clap of thunder.

Suddenly he mirrored my scowl, but for a different reason. “Damn. Something must’ve taken damage above us. I don’t remember this leak being here earlier.” His gaze landed on a part of the cave’s roof; a steady stream of drips fell to the ground below. It seemed I wasn’t imagining the sound of water after all. “It’s not a big one, so we should be fine. Lightning wouldn’t hit this far down though. Maybe the water’s making the foundation looser than usual. If it shifted…”

Then he shook his head. “No. It _doesn’t matter_ why. Follow your own advice, idiot.”

It took me a few minutes to realize he’d started talking to himself. I glanced at him, puzzled, and it returned his attention to the world around him. With a chuckle, he hopped up next to me on my ledge, trying to balance his weight toward the back; it was wide and deep enough for me to sit comfortably, but I never imagined anyone else — least of all an almost-adult — joining me. How he managed, I’ll never know, but he did it, as always. Both of us being crushed together so tight was silly — but I wouldn’t have traded it for the world, even as scared as I was.

“And now… we wait.”

He sighed, leaning back against the rocks in much the same way that I had, back when I’d thought of this little cavern as the only safe place in the world. I thought he might try to strike up a game, or look at Vohl’s book, or maybe eat some of Pahla’s bread, but he closed his eyes instead. The dark half-circles underneath his eyes reminded me that he hadn’t slept much at all since last night; it didn’t take more than a few moments of quiet before his breathing fell into a steady, deep rhythm. Part of me wanted to wake him up, unwilling to be alone with the silence; then I remembered the night before and leaned against him instead.

This time, even if I fell asleep too, he couldn’t get up and leave me behind.


	5. The Sun Sets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first interview session drags on as further losses pile up amidst the ashes of the rest. Though Raphail succeeds in telling the story he set out to tell, the enormity of his grief almost puts an end to the entire interview process once and for all. Fortunately, he is in good hands with Lili. TAGS: minor character death, child death

“Loss and possession, death and life are one; there falls no shadow where there shines no sun.”  
—Hilaire Belloc

We sat there for what seemed like hours. Allaz’s rest was fitful; he startled awake every double handful of bells, distracted by sounds in the distance and in his imagination. Though his body demanded sleep, his mind was focused on making sure we were still safe. His cautious glances into the depths of the cave told me he was still worried about the barricade he’d placed, now that he couldn’t see it for himself. Despite that, our little section of the cave stayed dry aside from the constant dripping far above us. With nothing better to do, I started to count the drops.

I was almost asleep myself when Allaz woke for the last time, with a curse that would have made Mama angry if she’d been around to hear. I could feel every muscle in his body go rigid; his ears tried to twitch in every possible direction at once. His tail grew to twice its normal width; he reminded me of some of the ferns outside more than a Miqo’te. He had heard something… something bad. But I hadn’t. Had I missed something? Or was it just his imagination again?

“Raph’ir. I… I need to go check something, okay? I’ll only be a few minutes. I promise.”

He was trying to keep his voice even, but he sounded as unsteady as he had the night before. The sense of dread I’d learned to feel at the tone returned in a flash.

“ _No_. Stay here. Mama _said_ , Allaz!”

Still as gentle as ever, but with a firm purpose that I hadn’t expected, he pried himself away from my side and eased himself to the ground, his muscles slow and stiff after being in such an awkward position for so long. A wave of unexpected anger flooded my senses as he moved. My best efforts to make sure he couldn’t leave meant nothing; I was too little to hold him back, let alone the waves that threatened us. Was there _anything_ I could do that mattered?

“Kitten. Look at me.”

He gazed up at me, still clearly wanting to rush toward the source of the sound he’d heard, but distracted by my obvious distress. I didn’t — couldn’t — look at him; my eyes focused on the random scrawls I’d left in the dirt instead.

“Listen. It’ll be okay. I think… I think all the water made the dirt around this cave too soft. If I’m right, then that sound I just heard means we have an even _bigger_ leak now. The barricade I built won’t matter if there’s a big leak between _it_ and _us_. Do you understand?”

His explanation made sense, even if his intention still didn’t. “Take me with you. I can help, I know I can! And… and I… I don’t wanna stay here by my—”

“I’m sorry, Raph’ir. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But it’s safe here for now. It’ll take time for the water to come this far, even with a leak. I just want to see what we’re dealing with, and then I’ll come back. I won’t go far. Please.”

I wasn’t listening anymore. Faced with the admission of his fear, my entire body started to shake, and the tears I’d been holding back for hours burst forth. I didn’t have the words to explain how terrified I was of losing him; of taking my eyes off of him for only a moment, only to find his twisted corpse in the dark, like I had with the others. Every minute that I could have spent with my family weighed heavy on my soul; how many of them had I wasted, not knowing they would be my last? He should _know_. He’d lost them the same way that I had!

He was silent for several moments, his face ashen and his eyes closed; for all I knew or cared, he might have fallen asleep again while standing. When his eyes opened again, I could see the faint glimmer of tears mirroring my own. Knowing I’d hurt him only made things worse.

“I’m sorry. But… Mama would never forgive me if anything happened to us. Right now, this is the only way I can be sure I’m keeping us safe. So if you want to help… then stay here. Wait for me. Dry those eyes that she gave you. And… smile. For me.”

He raised his arms, offering me a quick hug, but I was still too angry and terrified to reach back. Several heartbeats passed in absolute silence, neither of us backing down from our choices. In the end, he had no choice but to give up. He sighed, slowly nodding, and turned his back to me, his gaze fixed on the exit to the chamber. Had anyone _ever_ talked him out of doing something he’d set his mind to? I hadn’t noticed it before, but it seemed crystal clear in that moment.

Like Mama.

“Fine. Stay here, Raph’ir. That’s an order. We can talk about this when I get back, but right now I’m going to go. I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was gone, running into the passageway at his usual, amazing pace. His footsteps echoed through the cavern for several bells before they faded, leaving me in a deafening silence punctuated only by the steady drip-drip-drip of the tiny leak above me.

He wasn’t the only one that should have known better, of course.

If I knew then what would happen next, I would have held on and never let go.

Time passed. Twenty summers later, I still couldn’t tell you how long I waited in that cavern for Allaz to return. Outside, the storm continued to rage. The thunder that sounded so distant with him by my side seemed to grow to an unbearable volume. My own ears began to pick up strange sounds in the distance, tempting me to rise and follow him into the dark; I wasn’t brave enough to forge ahead without him. Mama’s orders had been clear, and Allaz had told me to stay if I wanted to help. What would they say if I disobeyed, and something happened?

And yet, every weak, useless bone in my five-summers-old body begged me to move; to do something. To change something. To be something. Like Allaz. Like Mama.

He still hadn’t returned when the water arrived for the first time. My breath caught in my throat as I watched it start to flood into the cavern — not in trickles anymore, but in something more akin to the edge of a wave at low tide. If not for the simple fact that the water had never managed to reach this depth in the cave before, it would have looked ordinary. I pulled Pahla’s box and Vohl’s book into my arms, fearing the worst; the water wasn’t anywhere near my ledge yet, but I knew it might reach me sooner than I wanted to believe.

My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to remember Allaz’s words. _It’ll take time for the water to come this far, even with a leak._ Logic and reason dictated that a tiny bit of water making the ground wet didn’t mean it was guaranteed to fill the entire passage. I had to believe that — but it didn’t stop my imagination from running away with me, the same way it had before. Jumbled memories of being lifted and dragged by the waves, combined with vivid images of the destruction they’d wrought on our family’s keepsakes, left me adrift in a sea of anguish.

_“Allaz!”_

I yelled at the top of my lungs, wincing as the sound echoed through the cavern and bore down on me, overwhelming my delicate ears with its force. He said he didn’t plan to go very far. He _had_ to hear me! But silence answered my shout, and my hands clenched themselves around Pahla’s box tight enough to leave deep marks in my flesh.

Had I missed something, as angry as I was? Had he said something else that would explain his absence? I wished I’d paid more attention. I wished I’d hugged him after all. I would make sure that I did… as soon as he got back. As soon as he stopped the passage from flooding.

As before, the waves had deeper, darker plans that I couldn’t have rivaled. Everything seemed to happen at once; the water began to flow in stronger waves through the passageway, covering the floor of the cavern from wall to wall in the amount of time that it took me to scream. In the distance, the sound of something heavy _cracking_ , and then _crumbling_ into a thousand pieces filled the air. At first, my terrified mind seized on the idea that the barricade had failed; later I would understand how foolish I’d been to think I could hear something hundreds of yalms away.

My ears focused themselves on the sounds in the distance, trying my best to determine if any of them could be Allaz; none of them sounded like anything living. By now, I was sure that he’d been gone too long; as I’d dreaded, something unexpected had happened again. I watched in horror, defenseless as the water continued to flood the cavern floor. If I weren’t still sitting on top of my ledge, it would have reached high enough to cover my waist. Running to find Allaz was no longer an option, even if it had been a good idea.

Staring blankly at the narrowing gap between the water’s surface and the edge of my ledge, I swung my legs up to the ledge and moved into a crouching position, putting more distance between me and the waves. I yelled for Allaz again, but this time, the water swallowed the echo.

The rage I’d mastered since he left began to overwhelm me again. Helplessness was not a trait that any of the Sahra clan had ever accepted with grace; even at my age, it was impossible to bear. Mourning everything that we had already lost, and waiting for the murky pool that used to be my home to pull me down into its depths forever, I had no choice but to face the very real possibility that I would die for the second time in two days.

How had we ever lived in peace and harmony for so many years? It all seemed like a fairy tale now; the last bedtime story told as the world around me crumbled into oblivion.

Dying, from what I’d seen, looked like it would hurt.

But at least, when the end came, I’d be with Mama and the others.

And… maybe Allaz, too.

At that thought, my rage left me, displaced by an empty, bottomless sense of grief and regret. He had to be dead — it was the only explanation for why he wouldn’t have come back for me like he promised. Allaz kept his promises as surely as Kaja told nasty jokes and Pahla cried; I’d yelled at him and punished him, all in the name of trying to stop him from keeping the one he’d made to Mama. He’d chosen to protect me, in spite of everything I’d done; there were so many things I should have, or could have, said! But now… it was too late.

If someone like Allaz couldn’t save us… maybe there _were_ such things as devils.

Motion near my feet distracted me from my thoughts long enough to process the knowledge that the water level had reached my ledge; my feet inside my sandals were wet. It should have been terrifying, but everything inside me felt numb. The broken part of me considered the value of jumping in and resigning myself to inevitability; the rest of me yet held onto a foolish hope for absolution that had yet to prove itself at any point over the last two days of my life. Without my family, it all seemed so pointless; the future held nothing but pain.

And then, the unthinkable happened. As the water reached my calves, something in the water… changed. The flow reversed course, much slower than before, and my vision began to blur; it took me a moment or two to realize I’d forgotten to breathe. By the time I’d counted ten good, steady breaths, my ledge was above water again. No longer in control of my own body, I collapsed to the still-wet ledge beneath me, sobbing — from relief, terror, or pure adrenaline, I still don’t know. My own survival had little to do with my reaction, though.

Somehow… he’d found a way. Allaz was _alive_. Nothing else mattered beyond that.

I waited there, incoherent and wailing, until the water returned to knee height. Then I jumped down to the ground and splashed my way along the network of passageways, the jubilant smile he’d asked me for plastered wide on my face as a greeting — and an apology at the same time.

I did not have to run far before I found him.

In a larger passageway that should have led to the handful of smaller ones stretching in the direction of our living area, my feet came to a halt; my smile died on my face. The scene before me was still the cave in which I’d grown up, but it had changed enough during my absence that it might as well have been another planet. The rain had lightened, but the cloudy sky and hidden sun intruded through wide gaps in the broken, shattered stone above me; the ground was mangled, reaching up to the ceiling in places and leaving gaps in others. I could see the roots of various plants jutting out from the destruction; it was as if the ground had torn itself apart.

Allaz’s barricade was on the ceiling, further down the passageway, covering nothing but open air. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed that the entrance to our cave pointed upward in the center of a rocky mass. It was battered and beaten, but still stood strong; as I thought, he needn’t have worried. Beyond its edges, though, I could make out the sight of scorched wood and rain-soaked leaves, part of which had replaced the roof of the passageway permanently.

The lower half of Allaz’s body was buried in the rubble formed from the rocks that were once part of the ceiling. For a mercy, the sight was obscured by dirt, stone, and debris; it would take me several summers to understand the source of the metallic scent in the air. Deep scratches and bruises of unknown provenance adorned his chest and hands. His skin was paler than mine, for the first and only time I could remember, and his face was as still and peaceful as Seril’s had been when he pulled her from the waves. His eyes were closed.

“A-Allaz…?”

He was sleeping. That was it. Tired and worn out from his heroic efforts, of course.

Even as I said it to myself, I knew how stupid it was. But the alternative…

I stepped closer to him, my eyes focused only on him; I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to, and everything in me did. Even as grievously injured as he was, the rogue sunlight from above seemed to radiate from his veins instead of the sky. I didn’t even stop to think before I dropped Pahla’s box and Vohl’s book into the ilm of remaining water on the ground, freeing my hands to grab onto his cold, still shoulders.

I didn’t expect him to move; somehow it still destroyed me inside when he didn’t.

I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around everything that I could reach; I rested my head against his, too exhausted from my earlier tears to summon more so soon. What had happened, I couldn’t begin to understand, but… he’d been right.

_Knowing why things happen is important, but sometimes what matters most is how you respond to the things you don’t understand. This is one of those times._

When his cracked, bleeding lips turned up at the edges in the barest hint of a smile, I almost didn’t notice at first, convinced that I was either dreaming or hallucinating.

“G-Good… you’re… okay. It… worked.”

The words seemed to take all the strength and breath that he had left, and I grabbed onto him tighter, as if I could will my own into him. I wanted to tell him to stop, to save his energy, that everything would be fine… but now wasn’t the time to be stupid.

“Landslide… like I t-thought. Had to carry… it here… more water was m-making it through here than the entrance.” He paused, gasping for breath; I would have waited forever for even one more word. “Then… tree fell. Wasn’t… fast enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

I managed to choke out my words before the tears caught up with me. It didn’t matter whether they made any sense in response to his explanation. It only mattered that I said them. I should have said them far sooner. And… time was short. Looking at him made that clear.

Of course, he understood me. Even then.

“D-Don’t… worry. S-Still… mama’s little… k-kitten. Listen. N-North… village where you can… f-find help. G-Go. P-Promise me.”

Somehow, he found the strength to open his eyes for the last time. I met his gaze, though I could barely make it out through the tears, trying to remember every facet of it.

“I-I promise, Allaz. Thank you. For… for everything. For saving me. For protecting me. For… for being my big b-brother.”

His eyes closed again, but the smile he’d fought to show me stayed on his face.

“At l-least now… you’ll have… c-chance. I wanted… save s-someone. S-Sorry… I couldn’t… save… a-all. S-She’ll be… mad…”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Mama, and I shook my head, knowing on some distant, primal level that his wandering mind signaled the last moments of his life.

“No. S-She’ll tell you to rise and s-shine… like she always did. Tell her… I miss her. I miss everyone. And… a-and I’ll miss you… Allaz.”

The corners of his mouth had already started to drift back into their natural resting positions, and I watched as the shadows reclaimed his face for the final time.

“R-Raph’ir. Miss… y-you too. Please d-don’t… hate me… o-okay?”

And then he said no more, leaving me utterly alone with my grief.

* * *

My head is heavier than it should be. Baderon’s ale has done its duty; combined with the weight of the story I’ve been telling, it makes sitting upright feel like an agonizing chore. Still, it fills the emptiness inside enough to hold me together, at least for now.

 _Great. All hail the so-called Warrior of Light, bawling like a newborn babe. How_ inspiring _. Especially when every last one of them has lost something or someone, too. All I did was get unlucky. I’m no better than they are. I have no right._

Somewhere, deep inside, I find an uncontrollable urge to laugh; the sound is dry and bitter, unlike my usual friendly chortle. Talking about Allaz always has that effect on me. The brave, the bold, and the courageous hero — that’s the mask I’ve crafted for myself, and at least half of it comes from my memories of him. I’ve never worn it comfortably, though there are moments now and then when I forget. I know in my bones that he radiated a light that I never will.

_I’ve never hated you, you Twelves-damned idiot. Would that I could give all of this up for another chance to see your face. But that won’t save anyone, will it?_

I have had countless opportunities to stand in his shoes, now. I know the weight of what he carried for me, and for the others. I’ve had people look at me the same way I used to look at him. As I’ve grown older, I’ve found that his answer to the question of why bad things happen is the only one that I’ve been able to accept, even if I never had the chance to tell him so.

_Knowing why things happen is important, but sometimes what matters most is how you respond to the things you don’t understand._

But I had hoped I would understand _more_ , at least, after twenty summers without him.

A loud sniff from across the room interrupts my train of thought, and I look up to see Lili pulling her glasses off with an expression fixed somewhere between dutiful diligence and - at last! - the irritation I expect. At first, I’m convinced that I’ve woken her from an inopportune nap; then I realize she’s scrubbing at her eyes with her tiny fists, hoping I won’t notice she’s teary-eyed too. It would be charming on a better day; for now, I am too overwhelmed to appreciate it.

“Hey. I’m already crying on the record. The least you can do is admit you are, too.”

She grants me a sheepish smile, and I do my best to mirror it, though it takes more energy than I have. Allaz could always make others smile, even at the worst of times. I’ve spent much of my life trying to learn that trick of his, even if it hasn’t come as easily as I hoped it would. Raph’to was right about the way that maidens flock to it, but it has other uses, too. Bridging the gap between hearts is important, and I’ve seen it mend fences when nothing else can.

_It also serves as a good way to get others to do what I want them to do._

“You look tired, Lady Lili. That inkwell has to have dried up by now. Surely someone is missing you tonight, and I’d hate to see anyone else awake at this hour on my account.”

_And by that, I mean please leave me to drink the rest of this rotgut in peace. Baderon knows not to bother me until dusk when I’ve had this many. I’ll wake up on my arse in the street in the usual spot when I miss check-out, but that’s fine. I know how to get home from there._

Blissfully unaware of my aim, Lili frowns and slips her glasses back onto her face. “You’ve gotta be yanking my yaffle.” Climbing down from her chair, she crosses the room and plants herself about a yalm from my seat — on the floor. How long have I been there? I don’t even remember moving. Keeping myself together enough to continue the story has taken too much focus.

“Leaving you lonely now would be the ultimate… unkindness.”

_Right now, what I don’t understand… is what to do when the smile doesn’t work._

The logical, reasonable part of me wants to thank her. Of the few people that have seen me in these moments of despair, fewer still are brave enough to face me; I spend most of my time trying to avoid such moments for that exact reason. Making others uncomfortable has never been my aim. Alas, the rest of me — overtired, heartsick, and drowning in ale — responds first.

“Let me rephrase that. This interview is over. Leave. _Now._ ”

Ashamed of my harsh words, but unable to master both my growing fragility and the overwhelming sense of my own exposure, I fall silent and train my gaze on the floor, away from anything that might invite further argument. It’s a clear signal for her to leave, and I expect to hear the door slam in the distance this time. Nobody would dare—

My ears, as sensitive as Allaz’s and Mama’s now, pick up the rustling of a small robe crossing the carpet instead. A pair of tiny hands take hold of mine, and I find myself staring down into Lili’s eager, concerned face. Even if she means well, she is far too close for comfort.

“Don’t dismiss me, dummy. I prompted this pain. Let me lessen it a little. How can I help?”

“G _o away_. And take your infernal alliteration with you. It’s giving me a headache.”

The smile I coaxed out of her fades, and I know that later, I will hate myself for causing that. But right now, it is exactly what I want to see from her, and it brings me _joy_.

Maybe this whole interview thing is a mistake; a slightly smaller one than choosing to become the Warrior of Light in the first place. Maybe I should have died with the others. Maybe one of them should have made it out, not me. Maybe the Twelve got it wrong.

“Well, then. As you wish.”

She turns away from me, and I glance up far enough to watch as she crosses the room to her desk and gathers her things. How she manages to carry them all, I have no idea; a better, sober version of me would have offered to help. She heads for the door, and I am about to breathe a sigh of relief when she stops, turning back to me with hesitation still in her eyes.

“Call me if you care to continue. B-But… blaming yourself blindly won’t bring them back. So stop suffering solo in sadness. They would tell you that, too.”

“You don’t even know them!”

I am on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, and the empty flagon I’ve been holding falls to the floor, scattering the last few drops all over the rug. The _nerve_ of her, asking for an interview only to stick her tiny pip of a nose where it doesn’t belong! Even if she’s right, I can’t—

This time, Lili seems to expect my outburst, and she shakes her head. Then, for reasons I am far too bruised to understand in the moment, she smiles — all on her own.

“Wrong, woolhead. I do know them now. Through you. Ta-ta.”

And then she steps outside, closing the door calmly behind her; I stand alone in the midst of the empty inn room, with nothing to show for myself but shame.

I never managed to apologize for my previous behavior; now I will have to find an even better way to make amends. To her — and to Baderon, for his rug. But for now, I’m in no mood to deal with any of it. All I want is to go home and disappear, which is a good plan — except that half of Eorzea will notice me on my way out, and half of _those_ will need some kind of help. Damn my penchant for wearing red! Vohl always did say I was a show-off. Maybe I should have listened.

As I start to resign myself to staying the night alone in my cups, I realize that sending Lili away has backfired spectacularly in regard to that plan; the Lalafellin-sized flagons of ale that she left behind are all empty. Ordering more will require me to face the serving girl outside, and it will disappoint both of us to have my image tarnished by the sight of me in this condition. She deserves better, even if I know I do not, right now. It would be a fitting punishment.

With a sigh, I run my hands through my hair — ignoring a stray memory of Allaz ruffling it, so long ago — and try my best to stand up straight and tall. If I clean up my face a little, and make sure my glasses are perched on the right part of my nose to reflect away the worst of the damage, it’s still possible that I can make a quick exit, with enough luck. Perhaps the luck I never had as a kitten will show itself someday. Perhaps today will be the day.

As I pull myself together and creep into the corridor, LIli’s words ring in my head.

_“I do know them now. Through you.”_

I should be flattered. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to this interview in the first place, after all. I’ve done what I set out to do, despite all the pain and suffering it has caused. And yet… Mama would say that my actions today have done little to speak well of her sacrifice.

If I squint hard, into the light, I can almost see her; she is so bright that I have to look away.


	6. Intensity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphail returns to Lili, embarrassed but prepared to continue the interview process. He begins his second interview with his departure from his family’s cave and his journey into the wider world. Though grief and fear have left their mark on the child he was, he stands firm in the knowledge that he must survive at any cost, in order to carry on his mother’s name.

“Every journey starts with fear.”  
—Jake Gyllenhaal

The lamplight from the desk before me sends flickering shadows up the dusty brick walls of the inn room at the Quicksand. My footfalls disrupt the silence; I am content with the sound. In the years between the Calamity and my ascension to Warrior of Light, I performed on many a small stage throughout Eorzea and its distant sisters. Though my last professional act was far too long ago, my instinct has yet to leave me. Dexterity, grace, charisma, and poise are skills that suit a so-called hero as well as a fledgling magician, it turns out. Lucky me.

My audience of one stands as I enter; her forehead bears wrinkles that ill befit a lady of her age. It is difficult to read summers at a glance on a Lalafell, but I place her at fewer than forty — around my mother’s age, had the storm spared her life. A week and change has passed since my drunken foolery brought those wrinkles hence, and I am still amazed by her willingness to tolerate my presence. Agreeing by post to meet in her native Ul’dah, rather than asking her to face the ocean again in my name, is the first part of the apology I am here to offer.

In front of her, sitting crooked atop the mess of scattered papers and journals that adorns her desk, is a tray full of grilled sweetfish.

I am interrupting her dinner.

 _Score: Lili, two. Me, zero. And now I’ll have to smell_ that _all night, too. It figures._

She arches an eyebrow at my lack of speech, and fills the void with her own words. I have missed her easy alliteration — contrary to the cheap shot I recall taking at her expense. “Hmph. All hail the heartless half-hero, here to find my forgiveness. I trust your travels were tranquil?”

“I assumed you would hope they _weren’t_.”

The tone of Lili’s voice bears no hint of malice. If anything, she sounds as if she is making fun of me, and her smirk in response agrees. I came here intending to maintain proper decorum, to show her the depth of my regret for the way our last encounter ended; that plan feels out of place now, if she’s not still angry. But I won’t allow myself to get out of this with clever banter. She deserves better, after the kindness I know that she tried to show me that night.

Refusing to wait for further charity, I drop to the ground on both knees, bowing my head as low as practicality will allow. It’s dramatic, and perhaps veering toward the absurd, but I can think of no other way to prove my honesty in the moment. Even with my eyes on the floor, I can tell that I’ve alarmed her; it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the apology itself.

“Lili. There’s no excuse for the way I behaved. We both know that. I knew it was going to be a difficult interview. I could have warned you. I could have asked to stop early. I could have held my Twelves-damned ale better, or skipped it in the first place. But instead, I made a fool of myself and showed you the worst that I have to offer.”

I steel myself and look up at her; holding eye contact is something I’ve learned as part of being a magician, even though it’s never been comfortable or natural for me. Some of the ladies I’ve had the pleasure to meet claim that my eyes are what draw them in first; something about looking too sad, or too shy, or too mysterious to forget. I can’t speak to the veracity of those claims, but the risk of encouraging curious minds and hearts to delve into my personal business is not one that I’m eager to take.

I’m here to save others. I’ll worry about myself on my own time.

Someday, I’ll have some.

“Mama always said there was a special place in the seventh hell for rude people, and… well, I think she mostly said it to get us kittens to behave. But if anyone deserves to be there right now, it’s me. She still needs me to tell her story. And to do that… I still need you.”

It takes me a moment to notice that Lili’s face has turned the same shade of scarlet as my jacket. She glares at me, and I’m convinced that she’s about to throw me out on my arse.

It’s what I deserve.

Then she laughs, harder than I’ve ever heard her laugh before. Her high-pitched giggles seem to penetrate the walls of the room and seep out into the rest of the Quicksand. I wait in silence for what feels like bells, refusing to acknowledge my discomfort. Eventually she pulls off her glasses to wipe tears of mirth out of the corners of her eyes. By the time she replaces them, her smirk has returned and widened.

“Thal’s _balls_. They told me you were intense, but it was all idle bluster before!”

 _They?_ After my shameful display, she _still_ went out and interviewed people about me?

“Um… _who_ told you that, exactly?”

 _C’mon, Sahra. It’s not like everyone who knows you_ can _or_ would _._

Still chuckling, Lili shakes her head. “Serious reporters shouldn’t reveal their sources, silly.”

She approaches my position on the floor, and I recall the way she reached out to grab my hand at our last meeting, before my temper got the better of me. This time she is more cautious, I am more aware of her approach, and her target is different — she ruffles the top of my hair with her palm, like a tiny child greeting a pet.

Memories long buried stir to life in my mind at her touch, but I am too distracted by her kindness to let them run away with me. I know I’ll be talking about them soon enough, anyway.

“Go on. Get up. That floor is frigid. And please ignore the impulse to periodically… prostrate yourself. I’ve no need of such grandiose gestures. Twelve take me, have you any hunch how many maidens would wilt and wither for a fraction of that feat?”

“Mama always said honesty was the best way to— wait, when did we skip ahead to the chapter on my love life? I thought you were the philosophical type of scholar!”

“I am. And I’ve heard all of the… amorousness I can handle already. Rumor has it that you’ve wreaked havoc on _many_ hearts, Master Raph’ir. Perhaps your mother might be proud.”

Her casual use of my birth name makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and it takes almost all of the sting out of her _accurate_ assessment. I pull myself to my feet and dust off my knees, taking a deep breath. “If you don’t mind, let’s stick with Raphail. I haven’t been Raph’ir Sahra for many years. It’ll never stop being my real name, and I’m loathe to forget it entirely, but… let’s just say that it still reminds me too much of the past.”

 _Truthfully, there_ are _a few people I’m close to that I allow to use it, but… you said you didn’t want to address my assorted affairs. Oh, Twelve — now she’s got_ me _doing it!_

Lili seems surprised by my request, but nods. “Forgive my forwardness. Master Raphail, then. If you’re finished fooling around, might we return to the record? The senior scribes are getting snappish about this deviation from their deadline.”

“Sorry. If it’ll help, I can tell them it was my fault. I never intended to make trouble. I’ll be on my best behavior this time, I promise.”

“So I suppose I should expect some more of the same.”

I wince theatrically as I lower myself down in the chair across from her and prop my heels up on the edge of her desk. In the back of my mind, the memory of my mother chastises me for my manners; now that my apology has been delivered, I am finished with decorum for the day. “Ouch. I thought we wiped the slate clean. Is this a roast or an interview?”

Lili returns to her own seat and pushes her meal aside in favor of her quill. I try to keep my eyes off of the luscious Dravanian fish and _mostly_ succeed. “I did accept that… absurd apology. But I aim to ensure that you earn every onze of it. Beneath all that silly bluster, you still seem like a simple soul to me. Heroics won’t help you here.”

“I’d expect nothing different, my dear. I hope the rumors told you that, too.”

It is a rhetorical question, which is good, because she doesn’t answer it. I watch her grin shift into the calculating, studious expression that I now know is her _working_ face. “Right. Pray let us return to the last place we paused. Bereft of your brother’s beneficence, how did you get from your lodgings to the lands beyond?”

Something in my face betrays my sudden reluctance; she clears her throat. “Ahem. At a pace that _pleases_ you. Rushing will only ruin our rapport.”

I let out the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. Though the next chapter in my story may not be as tragic as the first, I know that it will not come easy. All I have to do is remind myself that I am not alone in the telling — or in the listening. A burden shared… or so they say.

It is that easy.

It is that hard.

As I talk, Lili’s quill fills a new page with scrawls of ink. From where I am sitting, they look like scrawls of my own lifeblood.

* * *

Like Mama, Allaz always thought of everything. That knowledge carried me through the ruined, flood-drenched passageways of the cave that I once called home. His final directive had been to seek aid from the village to the north, and I dared not disobey — even as hard as it was to leave his broken body behind. He’d given the others a proper burial; if I could have freed him from the fallen stone at all, he would still be alive.

Now, he would hold up that wall with more than his will and strength; he was part of it, forever and always. Except for the pain he’d felt, I wondered if that might have made him smile.

With Pahla’s bread box under one arm, and Vohl’s drawing book in my opposite hand, I emerged into the baleful light of a late afternoon sun that seemed to mock my presence. Where was Azeyma’s warmth when those storms drowned all around me in pain and suffering? As a Keeper of the Moon, I had always preferred the light of Her sister, Menphina; now, that preference bordered on fanaticism. The words I muttered to the sky should have landed me arse-up across Mama’s knees, but they didn’t, and I was prepared to hold someone — something — accountable for that.

Still, I didn’t have time to waste arguing with the heavens. Though Mama and the older kittens had sometimes traveled north to purchase things we’d needed from the mainland, she had never afforded her youngest the opportunity. Setting my course by the position of the infernal sun was simple enough; understanding factors such as travel speed and the passage of time with regard to an unspecified number of yalms required more wisdom than five summers could provide.

There were two things I knew for sure. The first was that the world around me felt strange and frightening for the first time in my life. The second was that the storm could come back at any moment for me — the last of my mother’s name, and the sole survivor of our family’s legacy.

No matter what, I couldn’t allow that to happen. And so I walked with purpose.

The journey was not a quick or an easy one, nor did I expect it to be. Lesser storms threatened me from time to time, forcing me to seek shelter as animals do, in caves and under trees. I was fortunate enough to avoid direct encounters with most of the local wildlife; the rare exceptions drained my strength through escape-fueled exhaustion or desperate knifework.

Between the last of Pahla’s bread and the bounty of the forest, I did not suffer from starvation or thirst, but I had no knowledge of how to make a fire on my own, and no equipment to build a fishing rod. The lack of fish and meat — a large part of any Keeper’s natural diet — left me sicker and weaker than I’d been at home. Was I even going the right way? How could I know for sure? How much further could I make it before my luck ran out? At least then, I’d see Mama again.

Two moons had come and gone before the dense forest gave way to tall grass and wooden fence posts. A gentle rain fell across the plains, soaking everything for malms in a fine mist. An apple tree on the other side of a fence caught my attention, and in that moment, it felt as if Menphina Herself had taken pity on me with food that didn’t fight back.

Despite legs that shook with exhaustion and pain, arms that still bore deep, untreated scratches and bruises from my most recent battle, and the inescapable knowledge that I smelled like an unwashed chocobo chick, I used the last of my strength to vault the fence and staggered my way over to the tree, my entire being focused on the cheerful red fruit above me.

The fact that someone might have owned it never even registered as I reached up to pluck one of the lowest-hanging apples and shoved it into my mouth, ignoring the seeds. I could see houses in the distance, but they seemed as if they were malms away; the work of another moon or two that I didn’t have left. The village that Allaz had spoken of felt like a fairy tale that someone had told me once, but I didn’t remember the details anymore. It occurred to me that I was singing Mama’s lullaby out loud to myself, but the words were out of order.

I was so angry at myself for forgetting them that I didn’t even notice when I collapsed into the grass, my heart pounding in my ears. A stranger’s voice rang out in the distance as I fell.


	7. Sweetfish and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphail’s second interview continues as he finds himself in the hands of strangers for the first time in his life. The family he encounters leaves a permanent mark on his heart, but the harsh realities of life in the world beyond his cave ensure that his sanctuary cannot last forever. Goodbyes must be said again as his journey carries him onward.

“I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone.”  
—Robin Williams

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a small, simple bedroom. The lone window’s curtains were tied back, letting the sunlight I detested indoors. The bed beneath me was made of sturdy wood; the quilt tucked around me felt soft and featured a detailed, colorful pattern that would have been at home in the family cave. I could tell without looking that the pillows were stuffed with feathers from a working fowl; the rough, stick-like protrusions on the ends poked through the fabric in places.

Pahla’s box and Vohl’s book sat near my feet on top of the quilt. Thank the Twelve I hadn’t lost them when I collapsed!

Sitting up to look around, I took in the rest of the room. An upholstered armchair heaped with laundry sat in the corner, while a matching wooden dresser and chest stood against the far wall. I could make out what appeared to be a framed family portrait on top of the dresser. A small figure, flanked by two larger figures, filled the center. Two hunched figures stood in the background. The sight filled me with equal joy and fury. At least _someone_ still had a family.

Ashamed of my childish jealousy, I glanced down, only to realize that someone had removed my wet, filthy clothing while I was asleep. That explained the laundry, and the fact that I was shivering in the chilly morning air. The scent of fresh herbs had replaced the stench clinging to my skin. Clean bandages, applied by an expert hand, covered my wounds. Acknowledging their presence brought my attention to the fact that the antiseptic beneath them _hurt_.

Uncomfortable with the sensation, I pulled at the edge of a bandage before blinking in surprise. The skin beneath my fingers seemed to radiate an intense, unexpected heat, as if someone had kindled a fire inside my body. That wasn’t normal. Pahla and Seril always made fun of me for having cold hands from staying in one place too much, always reading Mama’s books…

Mama’s books! All at once, my mind fixated on the fact that I’d shoved her fishing journal into my tunic on the night I’d lost her. After my time in the waves, and all the chaos that followed, I knew deep down that there was no way that I’d managed to protect it, but the slim hope sent me scrambling for my clothes. If whoever had rescued me had caused it any harm—

I tripped over my own feet as they hit the rug beneath me and fell hard to the floor, leaving rough abrasions on both of my knees and the bottoms of my palms. Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a young girl around my own age with pale blonde braids, an aproned dress, and delicate pointed ears that I’d read about before in Mama’s books. Elezen were not rare in the world outside, but we didn’t get many visitors from the mainland near our cave. I’d grown up almost entirely around other Miqo’te, and I couldn’t conceal my surprise.

Neither, of course, could she. I watched her eyes go wide, and both of her delicate hands rose to cover her mouth at the sight of my naked form sprawled in a heap on the floor. Before I could say anything, she backed out of the room with flushed cheeks and a squeal; the sound of her footsteps retreated into the distance. Muffled voices rose and fell from somewhere nearby, and I recalled Mama once telling me that nakedness was a bigger concern for other cultures than ours. Fearing the worst, I reached up and pulled the quilt to the floor to cover myself.

I was still shivering when the girl returned moments later, dragging an ancient Elezen woman by the hand. Her white hair was tied into a white braid that wrapped itself around her head. Her small but sharp eyes sparkled behind a pair of silver-framed spectacles that perched on the end of her nose. It occurred to me that she might once have been as beautiful as Mama. The elegant cane she carried allowed her to step safely past the girl and into the room with me.

“Welcome back, young man. It seems you gave Miss Delphine quite the shock.” The old woman chuckled, reminding me of the faerie tale grandmothers I’d read about in Mama’s books. She turned to face the girl in the hallway — Delphine, apparently — and smiled wide. “See, my dear one? He won’t bite. He’s only a little confused because of the swelling. Go and say hello, now.”

Delphine and I made eye contact for a fraction of a moment before she turned red again, snatching her hand away from the woman in order to cross her arms over her chest. “ _Nuh-uh_. Boys are _yucky_ , Grandmere. What about my _virtue_?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about _that_.” The woman turned back to me, wearing the same warm smile she’d given her granddaughter. “Best to worry about the young men that will expect you to _applaud_ , someday. And you have a _few_ bells before that happens, I’ll wager.”

She left Delphine sulking in the hallway and made her way over to my seat on the rug. I glanced up at her, curious, as she leaned the majority of her weight on her cane arm and offered me her other hand. Her palm was as wrinkled and calloused as the rest of her. “Come now, my boy. Let’s up and have you back in bed, hmm? You’re not fit to be playing just yet, though I’m pleased to see you _think_ you are.”

I frowned at her outstretched hand. “Mama’s journal. It’s in my clothes. I need it.”

Recognition dawned in her eyes. “A journal? Is _that_ what that is, then? It must mean a lot to you.” She reached down and patted my shoulder through the quilt. “Worry not. I’ve set the pages out to dry in the sun for you. Some of them won’t be salvageable, I’m afraid, but there’s more there than I feared. However did the rain soak so deeply into your skin? Don’t you have someone to look after you?”

I wasn’t listening. The warm flood of relief I’d felt at realizing Mama’s journal had somehow survived at my side grew cold at the idea of leaving it under the same sun that had buried her. It was so cold, in fact, that I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. The uncontrollable instinct, combined with the twisting emotions inside me, brought forth unexpected and unwelcome tears of frustration. Something was wrong with me. My body and mind weren’t working the way I wanted them to. What had the old woman said? Confusion because of the… swelling?

Delphine’s grandmother clucked her tongue at me, and right before my eyes, she transformed from a sweet little old lady into a proud, dangerous woman half her age, able to rival Mama in pure strength of will. “Oh, this won’t do at _all_. You need to rest, my boy. I’ll not hear of anything else for now. If you want that journal so badly, then there’s one way to get it back from me, and that’s to climb back into your bed _this instant_. Do I make myself clear?”

My panicked mind grasped onto the gentle but no-nonsense order for purchase. Sniffling, I nodded and accepted her offered hand, though part of me wondered what she would do if I refused. Did she have the strength to force me? Delphlne wasn’t going to help. But the old woman had sheltered me, protected me, and had my interests at heart — and even as confused and helpless as I was, I couldn’t bear to repay her courtesy with insolence.

With her aid, I managed to cover enough of my dignity on the way back up to the bed to avoid disturbing Delphine’s _virtue_ for a second time that day. The moment my head hit the pillow, I realized how exhausted I still was. Everything around me seemed to be spinning. Delphine’s grandmother tucked me in again, and as she bent over me, I found myself imagining Mama’s face in place of hers.

It was foolish, of course — like thinking the sun would hurt her journal. Logic and reason were… well, less logical and reasonable than they should be, and I tried to explain that to the old woman as she stood upright again.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Well then, listen close. The important bit is that you got into a few things you shouldn’t have out there. Those scratches and scrapes are still half infected, and you’re burning up because of it. That’s also why your mind’s a bit fuzzy.”

A giggle from the hallway cut into the pause in her speech. “Fuzzy! Like his _tail_!”

Annoyed for no reason I could explain, I tried to sit up and glare at Delphine, but the quilt was tucked too tight around my shoulders to permit movement. Her grandmother gave her a _look_ that served far better anyway. “Don’t antagonize him, my dear one. He’s not well. You can bother him all you’d like once he’s better. That is, unless you’re still worried about your virtue?”

Delphine’s expression turned pensive, but all traces of redness had left her cheeks. After a moment, a smirk began to play at the edges of her mouth.

“Mama _said_ I could have a kitty. Never thought he’d be _talking_ , though. Or _purple_.”

As I drifted back into a restless sleep, I wondered which of the seven hells I’d managed to locate. It took me several days of bed rest to realize that I’d actually found the village instead.

* * *

Lili snorts in amusement as she finishes taking the last of her notes for the moment. It’s good to see her smile during this session, though I’m not eager to tell her so; she might well stop to spite me. She sets her quill in the nearby inkwell and leans back, stretching her arms above her head.

“Poor, pretty poppet. You probably scared her senseless. Lucky you were a lad of learning, anyroad. Any other might not have made it to meet her at all.”

I nod in agreement. “It’s amazing what you can learn from fairy tales and stories, sometimes. And Mama wouldn’t hear of us not learning how to take care of ourselves from the start, living out in the wilds like we did. Still, I doubt she ever thought her youngest kitten would need to brave a journey of a hundred malms by himself. I still don’t know how I survived, to be honest. I’d hate to think it was only good luck.”

“Lady Raph looking out for her own? Or Master H’allaz, maybe.”

“Right. No offense to that theory, but they might have done that better _alive_.”

Lili looks as if she has stepped into a hornet’s nest, but I shake my head and let my expression soften again. “Maybe you’re right. It makes as much sense as anything else, at least.” But the thought tears at my heart. I force myself to press onward in spite of the pain.

“Anyway, I stayed at the farmhouse for two weeks. It took me half of that time to remember my own nameday. I still don’t know what that old woman did to patch me up, but it’s plain I owe her my life, assuming she yet walks this world. I don’t even have scars. I wish I could remember her name. She told me once when I asked, but not long after that…”

My words trail off, and the pregnant pause isn’t lost on Lili.

“Your bad luck just _beggars_ belief.”

I close my eyes and sigh. Neither response serves as a convincing denial. “I _could_ say that. It’s plain to everyone I meet that the Twelve could have been kinder. But you said yourself that anyone else might not have survived the things I’ve seen, much less intact. And every time I think I can’t bear to walk another step… something, or someone, reminds me that the journey is worth continuing. No amount of logic or reason has ever explained it to me.”

“Logic and reason err in explaining _everything_ in Eorzea. Even the scholars say so.” Lili tilts her head, musing out loud. “It’s my idea that ambition always aids adventurers. The drive and determination to deal with their destinies decides the day. Only the stalwart succeed.”

I want to argue with her. My own will has faltered far too often to be reliable. Strip away the friends, families, and memories I’ve made along the way, and I am nothing more than a broken corpse that someone once called a hero in jest. But I can’t disprove her claim. it remains possible that the hearts and souls of those around me only served to drive my own desire to live; to make something out of all the tragedy I’ve witnessed.

Whether they are the reason that I yet live, or merely the means by which I choose to survive, the distinction between the two is academic — but I’d sooner hand the credit to those who cared for me when they never had to. It’s the least I can do to honor them. So many are gone, now.

As I search for a change of subject, my mind and gaze stray to Lili’s plate of grilled sweetfish again. Cold though I trust it to be now, the scent is still intoxicating. Twelve _damn_ these catlike tendencies! Delphine would laugh at me, of course. So would most of Eorzea.

This time, even Lili realizes my plight. A smug grin spreads across her impish face. “You seem shaken, ser Somnalune. Is my tasty treat too taxing for you tonight?”

Embarrassed, I hang my head in defeat. It’s bad enough to have the urge in the first place, but it’s worse by far to have it noticed! Spending the morning rehearsing my apology left me no time to eat a proper meal, and the casual fare aboard the airship lauds its novelty — and price. I am by no means a pauper, but I can’t afford to waste my gil on gold-plated sawdust.

“Clearly your claim was correct. A fool for fish, or so you spoke at our first function — and you have lumbered face-first into my lure.”

I look up at her, my eyes narrowing in dawning recognition. Later, she would describe the moment more dramatically as “the moment when [my] eyes reflected the lamplight in the same way that a samurai’s katana reflects the moon at midnight.” The Garleans, I’m sure, understand.

“Wait. This… wasn’t an accident. You planned this. All of it. You _knew_.”

Lallafellin anatomy and basic physics prevent her from grinning wider. “I _told_ you you’ll earn every onze.”

Quite satisfied that she has broken my spirit, Lili pushes the plate an ilm or two in my direction. “Alas, it seems I’ve grown generous. See if it serves you the strength you seek. And before you bully me again, recall this reminder of my wrath. I won’t warn you again.”

A shiver runs down my spine, but it fails to stop me from swinging my feet down from her desk and grabbing the bait — I mean, plate — with both hands. Even cold, the fish is exquisite; someone at the Quicksand knows their way around a kitchen! I shall have to thank them later on my way out. As for the she-devil watching me shovel down her food…

“You shouldn’t have. Really. But… thanks.”

I’m not sure she can hear me with my mouth full, but of course, she does. She seems embarrassed by my gratitude, and I watch as she takes up her quill in defense. “W-Whatever. When you’ve gorged yourself, let us go on. I’m eager to educate myself on your entanglement with the Elezen, and I won’t have your focus faltering further. Forward!”

I waste no time in devouring the fish, wiping my mouth, and obeying her directive with an obedience that serves to blunt the worst of my hesitation. Whether her true aim is to continue my punishment, or to bolster me through the difficult parts of my tale, I cannot begin to guess — but I can see the kindness behind either, and that means everything.

_Every time I think I can’t bear to walk another step… something, or someone, reminds me that the journey is worth continuing._

As I speak, Lili is confirming my hypothesis, one word at a time. Telling this story is not something I _wanted_ to do, but it’s something she is helping to make possible.

* * *

The three of us reached a truce by the middle of the second week, well against the odds on which any casual observer would bet. Under the watchful eye of Delphine’s grandmother, my wounds healed at a pace that surprised even her. There was a wistful look in her eyes when she joked that the _cute ones_ always heal the fastest, because they’ve always got places to go. I wondered what places _she’d_ been to, with so many summers behind her.

Perhaps the number was smaller than she would have liked — and perhaps she had hoped for something to blossom between me and her spitfire of a granddaughter.

It took me several summers to understand _why_.

Delphine was every onze the tyrant she promised to be. She tied ribbons around my neck in order to make me “prettier.” My tail grew patchy from all the times she twisted her fingers into its fluff and _pulled_ just for the pleasure of watching me squirm. I made her cry once to pay for it, only to end up in tears myself when my growing strength hurt her. Standing in Vohl’s shoes terrified me, and I weathered her torment in silence afterwards. Her grandmother did intervene, of course — but always too late. I couldn’t fault the old woman for doing her best.

I never lived down the sordid details of my arrival, either. Halfway through my time at the farmhouse, the visits from other little girls and their families began; several bells per day of whispering, giggling, pointing, and chasing me around the house told me everything I needed to know about _that_. It was a blessed day when my strength returned enough to scale the apple tree outside to escape their fervor. After that, they resorted to tea parties without me.

Every time I thought I could bear no more of her cruelty, there were the nights when she dozed off on the couch with her fingers stroking my hair. There was the time she somehow got hold of a handful of _actual kitty chow_ and left it for me on a child-sized tea saucer while her friends waited for her, staring in wonder. Perhaps the differences in our upbringings couldn’t give her the maturity to see me as more than the pet she wanted in her mind — but I was _her_ pet, and I ached for my own family so much that it was easy to let that be enough.

Over the course of my stay, I learned about the family I’d fallen into, and it served to inform what happened next. It seemed that Delphine’s parents were traveling merchants that spent most of their time on the road in search of coin. Once, their name and station had given Delphine a mansion and dreams of nobility, but a rival merchant’s dirty tactics brought that paradise crumbling to the ground. The farmhouse — owned by Delphine’s grandmother and her now-departed husband — was the only suitable place left to raise their child.

Though I heard much about the work that Delphine’s parents put into protecting their daughter’s future from their fall from grace, the absence of the kinds of stories I knew from my own childhood bothered me. Of course there were some experiences that she and I could never have shared — but she seemed confused when I talked about the days when Mama would sit me on her lap and read aloud from her books, or make up stories that were all her own. She scoffed when I showed her the surviving pages of Mama’s handwritten journal. Once upon a time, her mother had a _servant_ to write things down _for_ her. Why would she care?

At the time, I thought she must have been lonely, and it served to quiet my frustration during the moments when she annoyed me the most. Still, it did nothing to prepare me for meeting her parents when they arrived late one night, their wagon laden with empty crates.

Delphine’s mother was a classic Elezen beauty blessed with a proud, prominent nose. In my head, I nicknamed her Hawk — because of the beak — and the moniker stuck. The shape of her eyes bore a clear resemblance to her own mother’s, but held far less warmth. Her simple travel clothing had to be several thousand gil more expensive than anything I had seen in my entire life, but she seemed to chafe at it in the same way that we kittens had chafed at our soiled nappies, once upon a time. Even Mama didn’t make those faces while she changed us.

When she stepped into the farmhouse, Hawk’s first words were not for her daughter, her mother, or the silent, stern Elezen man behind her — Delphine’s father, I assumed. I watched her nostrils flare at the edges, twisting her already unpleasant expression into something ugly.

“It smells like a _cat_ in here.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of my own presence in the room, I stood up from my seat and tried to remember the good manners that Mama taught me. Delphine’s grandmother had talked us into playing a quiet game of cards at the kitchen table two bells ago, and I was still losing; Delphine had “accidentally” dealt me all the worst cards. Whether it was my turn or not hadn’t mattered since the game began, least of all in that moment.

Delphine didn’t even look up from her hand. “You _said_ I could have one, mama.” The whine in her voice strained my ears, but she already sounded defeated. Hearing the overconfident hellion I’d come to know so cowed by her own mother left me colder than my fever had.

As Hawk’s gaze landed on me, Delphine’s grandmother picked up her cane and struggled to her feet. I realized the wary look in her eyes reminded me of Mama whenever she sensed a storm coming. Wary — and more tired than she had been over the course of two weeks alone with the two of us. I couldn’t help feeling guilty, but I needn’t have worried about my role in it.

When she spoke, it was with the unexpected deference of a servant.

“Please, have patience, milady. Miss Delphine found him by the apple tree. He was nearly dead, you see, and MIss Delphine was ever so excited to have a playmate. I thought maybe—”

Hawk’s eyes narrowed as she responded, though she never looked away from me. “Well, you _thought_ wrong. She understands the rules. Pray _enforce_ them, for Twelves’ sake.”

One of her hands found its way to her hip, and she turned to face her daughter, leaving me a heartbeat in which to catch my breath. “I said we could talk about buying a pet from the _store_ , Delphinium. _That_ is not a pet. It is a _boy_. And a stranger, at that. Halone take me if the neighbors aren’t milling about and gossiping as we speak!”

When Delphine didn’t respond, she continued. “How could you risk everything that your father and I have done to preserve your honor? You may be a child, but Mother is old enough to know better. Or so I thought. Perhaps I should have hired a nanny after all.”

“I’m not an _it_. I’m Raph’ir Sahra. And you shouldn’t yell at her like that. Um. Ma’am.”

Several summers later, I realized how foolish it was for me to insert myself in the conversation, but formless anger was welling up in the pit of my stomach, and the whole scene in front of me felt _wrong_. Mama had taught us kittens that strangers were a way to learn about traditions and cultures that were different from our own; a source of celebration, not condemnation. Both Delphine and her grandmother had enjoyed hearing stories about my past, but it seemed that the mere fact of my existence had somehow offended Hawk _and_ endangered Delphine.

Hawk took a step toward me, her posture stiff and threatening; both Delphine and her grandmother looked up in concern. “Pray attend me well, cat. In _civilized_ households, children do not speak unless _spoken_ to. And stray brats belong with their mothers, not causing strain for other families trying to make a living. So help me, if you’ve harmed my daughter’s virtue—”

 _That_ again. At least it explained where Delphine got it from.

I looked Hawk in the eye without flinching.

“My mother’s _dead_. Ma’am.”

Stating it so firmly for the first time made my hands shake, but rage sealed away the tears I wanted to shed. How could this woman be related to the kind old lady that cared for me over the past two weeks? Even _Delphine_ had shown more kindness, in her own special, ignorant way.

I let my gaze stray to Delphine’s father, who had yet to speak; his heavy-lidded eyes were downcast and bored. Perhaps he agreed with his wife’s opinion. Perhaps he didn’t dare stand against her. It didn’t matter. He was the first man I’d ever seen up close, and I vowed to myself that I would be a better one someday. I had no clue how simple a bar that was to clear.

Delphine’s grandmother broached the hostile silence, but the politeness I’d heard before now carried a note of genuine fear. “The last storm took his entire family, milady. He made it here from the coast, or so he told us. Halone must smile upon him, if he’s come so far. Of course we must needs find a long-term solution, but he’s only well enough now to have that talk. Having it any sooner would have confused him, even as smart a lad as he is.”

She glanced at me, her eyes apologetic, and my stomach clenched. I’d never considered the next step of my journey. Allaz had told me to come to this village to find help, but I was too young to get a job or go to school. I didn’t even have a house! What I needed was a family to care for me. How could I hope to replace that?

Moreover, the old woman was right. Mama would never have been able to raise another child, even an accidental one. If none of my brothers and sisters had been of age to help hunt and provide for our family, we would all have starved together. I couldn’t stay here forever — and my desire to do so was waning with each minute that Hawk stood in front of me. The life that the three of us built together seemed like a distant memory in the wake of her unexpected cruelty.

By the time I refocused my attention on the scene in front of me, Hawk had turned her back to all of us. “Well then, you are fortunate that he is _smart_ enough to understand the concept of an orphanage quickly. I shall contact Master Berke via linkpearl at once. He is one of our biggest clients, and I am sure he can make the necessary arrangements at the Bending Birch. That is his job, after all. Like as not he’ll take twenty percent off his next order as a _favor_ though.”

With that, she stalked toward the door, prompting her husband to retreat outside. I heard him mumble something about bringing in the empty travel crates before it got any later. I fought the urge to make a face at their backs in secret, assuming they wouldn’t turn around again — and almost as if she sensed it, she paused, one hand steadying herself against the door frame.

“It is too late for this nonsense. I shall come up with an explanation that suits the neighbors tomorrow morning. Make sure that impudent cat is gone before I see them. Is that clear, Delphinium? Arguments and tantrums will not suit you as a wife.”

“Yes, mama.” Though she spoke in obedient monotone, Delphine bent the card she held in half with a calculated vigor that I recognized from our play sessions. Her destructive tendencies always showed up the clearest when she was angry. Several summers later, I would include her future husband in my prayers. For that moment, however, it made me smile.

Delphine’s grandmother waited until Hawk was outside before letting out a sigh that seemed to give voice to what all of us were thinking at once. She made her way over to the table and bent down low over her cane, making eye contact first with Delphine, then me.

“Forgive me, dear ones. I’d meant to handle this before she ever knew what had happened. I didn’t think she’d be home for another few days still. The things she said— oh, she wasn’t always like this! She’s so afraid of seeing Delphine suffer that she’s turned herself into a monster, I fear. But I won’t excuse her behavior, Master Raph’ir. It shames both of us. Someday, if Halone wills it, I pray she’ll come to understand. If only I could change her heart.”

Delphine’s gaze had returned to the table in front of her, but the dark expression she wore seemed out of character, even if it made sense. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was okay, but I didn’t get very far before she leapt to her feet at a speed that she normally reserved for chasing me. All at once, her arms were around my waist, her fists were clenched in the back of my shirt, and her face was jammed up against my chest; her hair smelled like expensive roses. How had I not noticed before? Unsure of where to put my own arms, I settled for resting them around her in turn, only to realize she was sniffling.

“Grandmere, you _can’t_ let her send him to that place! It’s full of sad kids! Daddy says that’s where all the poor and sick kids go, but he’s not sick anymore!”

Whether her grief came from the idea of losing her friend, or her most prized possession, I never knew — but it was the first and only time she treated me as anything more than a pet.

Her grandmother looked to be on the verge of tears herself. “Believe me, dear one, I’d send him anywhere else, if only I could. He deserves better.” She smiled sadly at the two of us, wrapped together in an awkward embrace. Many summers later, I would know it as the moment when her hope for Delphine’s future drew its last breath. “It’ll be a roof and a bed, and three meals a day, at least. And he’s cute enough that I don’t think he’ll be there for long. Call it a hunch.”

Though it was meant to be comforting, there was something _wrong_ about her eyes when she said it; something it took me far too long to understand.

Eventually, after Delphine let go of me again, we all sat at the table and talked until well after her parents had finished their task and gone to bed. I learned that orphanages like the Bending Birch were meant to house children in my situation — children that needed families to serve where their own no longer would or could. With luck, the right grooming, and the right techniques, I would charm a family that I liked and find a new home to call my own.

Without it, I would end up on the streets once I was old enough to survive — which would still be better for me than ending up on the streets as a lost, helpless child of five summers. In a way, Hawk had shown me at least a hint of mercy. She could have turned me out onto the streets then and there, if she’d wanted to. Perhaps the late hour had made her brain too tired to seize upon the obvious. Or perhaps mother and daughter were more alike than I’d thought.

And so it was that I found myself awake in the silent, ephemeral bells before dawn, watching Delphine’s grandmother bustle through the house while she packed my meager belongings into a knapsack she’d fashioned out of an old flour sack and a sturdy branch. Though she knew Hawk would object, she insisted on packing me some food from the kitchen, along with strict orders to make sure that nobody in the orphanage saw it, lest it be confiscated. Even as terrified as I was, the freshly-picked apple she tucked into the top of the bundle made me smile.

Predictably, Delphine had refused her grandmother’s attempts to put her to bed. Instead, she napped in short, fitful stretches beside me on the floor. Draped possessively over one of my arms, she reminded me of the pet cat she thought I was. I recalled the way I’d clung to Allaz in the cave, while we waited out the second storm; I had wanted to be sure he couldn’t disappear without my permission. Looking down at her, I realized she had learned that same fear tonight. Had she cried when her parents began their travels, too? All in the name of her _virtue_?

It was one thing to be alone because you lost your family. It was another to be alone with your entire family still alive. For one foolish moment, my mind strayed to the stories my mother used to tell; I could take Delphine and run far away. Maybe no one would find us. Her grandmother might even let me. But I couldn’t save anyone. I couldn’t even save myself. Why had I survived when my entire family hadn’t, just to be so damned powerless in the face of tragedy?!

The Twelve were not forthcoming with a response.

Delphine’s grandmother hadn’t yet packed Pahla’s box, and my gaze passed over the nearby chair where I’d left it. Struck by an idea, I shifted my weight to avoid waking Delphine and reached up with my free arm, managing to grab it with the tips of my fingers. The bread inside had long since served to keep me alive; now the box held nothing but memories.

When I first arrived at the farmhouse, I was terrified to let it out of my sight, for fear that something would tear those memories away from me. Now, with my mind intact, I was terrified that the orphanage would take it from me, not knowing what it meant or what it stood for.

I would _never_ forget Mama and my siblings, box or no box. But as sure as the sun would rise over the course of the next bell or two, Delphine would forget about me. Hawk would make sure of that, and then she would turn Delphine into the perfect wife for a perfect nobleman somewhere. From what I’d heard, Delphine’s entire life seemed written out for her — but none of it left any room for the peace and joy we’d built together. She’d be… sad without me.

Even if I couldn’t save her, I could make sure she remembered she once had a friend. It was the right thing to do. Mama and Pahla would have approved, I thought. So I slid my arm free of Delphine’s sleeping form, and pressed the closed box gently into the void I’d left behind.

For one heart-stopping moment, she stirred — but didn’t wake. I wasn’t sure I could have explained it to her if she’d demanded to know what I was doing or why, anyway. Besides, she’d probably get the wrong idea and start screeching about her virtue again. Ugh.

I got to my feet and dusted myself off just in time for her grandmother to walk back into the room, knapsack tightly packed and sealed. She didn’t seem to realize anything was even missing, Of course she wouldn’t. She’d only seen Pahla’s box a couple of times in her life, and it didn’t mean anything to her, even if it once meant everything to me.

“Well then, my dear one. That’s everything, isn’t it? I even tucked your mama’s notes and your brother’s book in the very bottom to keep them safe for you. I figured you’d like that.” The old woman’s smile was forced. I was pretty sure mine was, too. “I suppose all that’s left is to see you off. Let me just put Miss Delphine to bed now that she’s out, and we’ll—”

She wasn’t saying so, but I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. She’d done far too much for me already, and all at her age. Mama would have my head if I let a sweet old lady with a cane walk me the distance of what might be yalms or malms! Besides, I wasn’t sick anymore. I could handle myself. How easy it was to forget how I found myself in this position in the first place!

I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“How far is it? I can walk by myself, ma’am. It’s no trouble, honest.”

Though she hesitated, I heard the relief in her voice. “Now see here, I won’t— oh, but it’s not far at all. Most of it is even paved. No monsters here in the village. And if I don’t get Miss Delphine to bed proper, she won’t be awake in time for her dress fittings. Her mother was… particular that they be done before she leaves again.” A wry smile crossed her face. “Like as not you’ll want to go before she wakes, anyroad. She loves you, y’know. She just has a funny way of showing it.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that at _all_ — so I stuck my hands in my pockets and dutifully made nothing of it instead. Somehow, it seemed to be the answer she expected.

“You’re a good lad, Master Raph’ir. It’s a shame to let you go.”

“I’ll miss her. And you, too.”

It was the truth. Even if I might have survived, had Fate chosen to drive me into someone else’s home and yard, I’d made memories here that would last a lifetime. The wounded, grieving part of my brain reminded me that this was one more farewell in an endless string of the same; I pushed it down along with the growing ache in my heart. If I couldn’t have _this_ family, then I needed to find one that could serve. Allaz always thought of everything, and _he’d_ sent me here. There was nothing to do but believe in him and hope for the best.

The old woman hobbled over and folded me into a quick, gentle hug, and I felt her ancient, damp lips brush across my cheek. Her unsteady gait up close reminded me how frail she truly was. How had she ever managed to haul me in from the yard on her own?!

If the gods were good, she’d live long enough to see Delphine grow into a woman. If they weren’t, then Pahla’s box might well be Delphine’s only companion in the months and years to come. I found myself even gladder that I decided to leave it behind.

She handed me the knapsack, full to bursting with treats and kindness, and together we made our slow, careful ways to the door of the farmhouse. It occurred to me that I still didn’t know her name — but there was no time to ask now. Perhaps it was for the best.

The door swung open, leading out into the pale morning light of a new day.

“Go swift and safe, my dear one. East until the sun rises, understand? Don’t stray from the path. Master Berke’s a right bastard, if you’ll pardon my language, but I reckon he’ll see you settled all the same. I’ll ask after you, to make sure you made it. My child can’t keep me from that, at least.” The old woman had a rebellious glint in her eye. “Halone bless and keep you. I know your new family will never be like your old one, but I pray you find happiness soon.”

“T-Thanks.” The burden of trying to control all of my conflicting emotions started to overwhelm me, and my composure almost broke — but I bowed at the waist to hide both the tears in my eyes, and the matching ones in hers. “May we all find… happiness, someday.”

And then, before either of us had the chance to change our minds for the better, the door closed between us, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. The journey to the Bending Birch wouldn’t be long enough to settle them all.

As I walked, my sleepless night caught up with me, and the morning breeze stirred up stray reminders of Delphine’s rose shampoo from my clothes. Eager to keep myself awake, I passed the time by pretending, if only for a few moments, that I was a fancy nobleman; the kind that Hawk would someday look at with those sharp eyes of hers and _smile_ instead of scowling.

But in the end, I was only a _cat_. No — only a _boy_.

For the first time in my life, that bothered me.


	8. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the second interview winds down, Lili has an unexpected surprise for Raphail. As a scholar and reporter, she has ways of obtaining information that surpass the common citizen — combined with an insatiable curiosity and an urge to ease the suffering she has forced to the forefront of Raphail’s mind. Perhaps he has not lost everything after all. TAGS: minor character death

“Only in art will the lion lie down with the lamb, and the rose grow without the thorn.”  
—Martin Amis

Darkness greets the end of my tale, and I realize that I’ve been talking with my eyes closed — lost in the vivid, swirling images of my memories. Embarrassed, I open them again. Lili is busy flipping through an over-large tome with a thoughtful expression fixed on her face. I watch in silence as she runs her finger down several pages, clearly in the process of trying to locate something in a massive index. At last she pauses and looks up at me. The lenses of her glasses flash a sudden warning in the lamplight. Whatever she’s looking for, she’s found it.

“Perhaps _you’d_ prefer not to ponder what humble House your fair friend was from, but I must confess my own curiosity. Such falls from favor are frequent, I fear, but damsels dubbed Delphine are far fewer. Her plight _is_ public record, for what it’s worth.”

Twenty emotions hit me at once, all of them unexpected.

Almost two dozen summers have passed since that day. I’m overjoyed that the tone of Lili’s voice seems to suggest that the girl I once knew still lives — and isn’t suffering. I have thought about looking up her name countless times myself, but I have the strangest urge to protect her privacy. What business is it of mine, anyway? She’s undoubtedly a proud nobleman’s wife with a title to match. Maybe she even has a _real_ pet now, instead of the one that grew up to be a Warrior of Light.

 _Nice try, Sahra. That’s a lie, and you_ know _it._

The truth is that I don’t want to see some meaningless title attached to her name. I know what it’s like to be a possession. I learned it from her, after all. And worse — if what her grandmother told me was the truth, then I was helpless to save someone that cared for me. Again.

_She loves you, y’know._

Lili studies my restless silence as I lean forward in my chair, my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands. I’ve always believed that anything I can’t confirm as fact is still possible; still open to interpretation. But my curiosity has always been my downfall, much like the infernal cat I resemble, and I’ll have to face the truth if I want to sate it. Not knowing is worse.

“Please tell me she got out. Tell me she made a name for herself. Her own.”

“You _said_ she was a spitfire. Did you truly think she’d smile sweetly and let mama marry her off? Ha! Hang on to your hat, honey. This will take some time.”

Lili’s eyes sparkle with mischief, but I am too busy holding my breath to notice.

“The old woman was worth her word. She and Delphine asked after you ‘til the day she died. Nine summers ago, apparently. But ‘Hawk’ hid the letters, lest they land in your _lowborn_ lap.”

_Twelve damn it. And I never did get her name. But… nine summers ago. That would be thirteen years after I left the farmhouse for Bending Birch. Delphine and I would have been around eighteen when she died, then. She always was tougher than she looked._

“She _was_ scheduled to be wed to some well-to-do silk stocking. But your little lady got a loaded letter from her lost granny, full of all the missing mail. Faced with the facts, she was… furious. She severed her apron strings and _absconded_ into thin air. The neighbors never asked about it. Turns out they all thought ‘Hawk’ was a handful of horse dung.”

Lili leans back in her chair, looking satisfied. “She shed her natural name, tinted her tresses, and abstained from the accursed altar — by becoming an _adventurer_. Said something about searching for a stray ‘someone.’ So, do you still say you’re not sure she cares?”

My voice ceases to function, much as it does anytime I am forced to face poignant reminders of the lives I’ve saved as a Warrior of Light. I’ve never wanted recognition for my deeds. Inspiring others to change their lives for the better is one of the reasons I do what I do — but knowing how weak I truly am beneath the surface, it hurts to see the gratitude in their eyes.

All I want to do is _help_. To make a _difference_ in the lives of others. It’s never enough.

Speechless, I look up as Lili slides something across the desk toward me. It’s a blank envelope. Even from my seat, I can tell it smells of rose shampoo. It speaks to my state of mind — or the sweetfish — that I haven’t noticed the scent in the air until now. Did she plan this, too?

“She’s still sore that you left without permission. _And_ pets. But only a fool would fail to notice the fire in her eyes when I mentioned your moniker.”

 _Wait. That’s_ far _too much information for a standard record of disentitlement. Even a reporter of Lili’s ilk would have to—!_

“Y-You _talked_ to her? In _person_?”

_Twelve preserve me, how in-depth does Lili intend to take this interview?!_

I grab the envelope in front of me and tear into it, damning my usual caution to the wind. I am all too aware that my status as a Warrior of Light precludes my chance for a happy ending; knowing that my life could end at any moment affords me no time or space to promise my heart to another. Someone like me has no business thinking the word “forever,” even in jest.

Still, the _affairs_ that Lili finds so distasteful keep me from noticing, most of the time. I’ve done my best to set expectations up front, of course, but hearts and bodies can be fragile things in a world like ours. My own are no exception. And right now, both are eager to see Delphine again.

For a handful of heartbeats, I am alone in the room with a single page of dainty, practiced letters written in rows of fine ink. Not a single smudge mars their strict adherence to the rules of penmanship. The scent of roses is overwhelming.

Some things, it seems, never change.

_Somnalune now, is it? Heh. Guess we’re both living lies. I’m sure you have your reasons too. I still have your box. There are purple hairs in it. Clever trick, using it to sneak away while I slept. Grandmere apologized in a letter to me. Said it was her idea, but I know better. I hope you’re as good at climbing trees as you used to be. I’ve been practicing. When you’re done saving this broken world of ours, I’ll find you, I’ll catch you, and I’ll never let you go this time. All my fancy dresses and that ‘virtue’ shite died when I left home, by the way. Hope you don’t mind. —D_

An uncontrollable grin works its way onto my face and refuses to leave, no matter how hard I try to suppress it for the sake of my dignity. Delphine’s words are as direct and threatening as ever, but they leave little room for doubt in regard to her feelings. Evidently she has thought a _great deal more_ about what I mean to her since we parted — and I am prepared to explore the matter with her in haste and due privacy, even if _forever_ means only a night or two.

That aside, the thing that stands out to me the most about Delphine’s letter isn’t its bare suggestiveness, or the warm, comfortable memories we share. It’s the way her words now carry a will that they never did when we were children. Is it possible that the hardships in her life have given her purpose, as mine have? Taking control of her own destiny from Hawk must have been terrifying — but it’s been good for her, too, to find her own way. I am proud to know her, and I know that her dearly-departed grandmother would share the feeling.

 _Thirteen bloody years. They wrote me letters for_ thirteen _years. I… wish I’d known._

Lili clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been re-reading the letter to myself in silence as my mind drifts in all directions at once. How rude of me. But then, she brought this on herself.

“I assume she didn’t tell you what’s in this. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to turn any redder than you did earlier without a healer present.”

She sticks her tongue out at me over the top edge of the letter. “Spare me the swooning. If things take off, you’ll owe me one. That’s all.”

I shake my head and put Delphine’s letter back down on the desk, bringing my gaze to bear on Lili’s with my full intention. My vow of honesty demands that I get something off my chest, and I’m eager to expedite the process.

“I _already_ owe you one. You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to _find her_ for me. I didn’t even know until today that I wanted you to. But it’s my duty to protect and serve this star, no matter the cost to myself. I chose this path. And yet _you’re_ trying to protect _me_. Why?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under the weight of my stare, but she doesn’t look away. “Because… this world is full of wonders that we _all_ share. Saving us all while you suffer in silence is… selfish. Let us lighten your load a little.”

Selfish?

_Me?_

I wouldn’t have bothered to ask the question if I’d been able to anticipate her answer, but her words leave me cold and more confused than I was to begin with. There are many things I’ve been called over the course of my twenty-seven summers, but _selfish_ is not one of them.

I bleed myself dry for the sake of this realm every moment of every day. Every soul on this bloody star knows my name, and all the work that I’ve done here. They never let me forget it! The only time I can spare to be anything like _selfish_ is when I’m too lost in my cups to care — or too busy warming the bed of a stranger in pursuit of forgetting that Twelves-damned ideal of _forever_. What I want for myself, for my future, for my destiny, hasn’t mattered in years. And I’ve done it all despite that, because there are _people that still need saving_ more than me.

Despite our rocky start, I thought Lili was starting to understand me. Now it seems that I’ve been baring my soul to someone whose only opinion of me consists of the word _selfish_.

But I’m the one that asked the question. There’s no sense in getting angry with her now. My mouth turns upward in a routine, practiced smile, and I manage a convincing job of pretending that it reaches my eyes. As I stand, I stretch out the stiffness in my shoulders and nod to Lili. I can only hope she doesn’t notice that the temperature in the room has dropped twenty degrees since the last time someone spoke. Or maybe it just seems that way to me.

“Perhaps… we should adjourn for now. It’s been a long day. Which bell did you rise at to fit all of this in, anyway?”

“Eleven. In the evening. Thanalan tea is one of my professional perks.”

Lili’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest, leaving me to wonder whether she’s telling me the truth, or merely having fun at my expense yet again. Then she shakes her head. I’ve never met someone so determined to ignore my cues.

“Planning to pretend you’re perfectly poised? Well, we’ll do this your way. By the by, your tail tells the truth, even if you are an accomplished actor. She said that, too.”

_It does not! And I wasn’t even performing back then! What does she know about it?_

What else had Delphine told her?

What had Lili asked?!

My tail dutifully proves their point, betraying me by twitching back and forth in annoyance. I sigh and turn my back on Lili, but the fact that I am sober this time keeps me from lashing out.

“Fine. You want the truth? I still don’t understand what you’re trying to say. But I told you I wasn’t here to dictate the terms of your interview. If _selfish_ is what you see in front of you, then who am I to judge? It’s refreshing to know that at least one person in this world _doesn’t_ worship me.”

Lili crosses her arms over her chest, managing to look more like a stern, impatient school marm than a reporter. “Thal’s balls. Did you hear even _half_ of what I expressed? If I thought you were a self-serving, supercilious snake, I’d have said so. I didn’t intend to insult you. I _said_ you should sheathe your sword arm for once and suffer some succor of your own. Someday, maybe you might see that the souls you’re so swamped in saving seek the same for _you_.”

_Oh. Well, curse me for a fool, then. She’s not even the first one to say it._

Yet here I am, focusing on the one word that might be twisted into something cruel, instead of the real crux of Lili’s kindness. When it comes down to it, it’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s not that I doubt her good intentions. She’s right, of course, and to say anything else is the sort of lie I’m struggling not to tell in her presence. But I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of others risking their lives and hearts for mine. Being a Warrior of Light is my chance to give back to all those I’ve lost, and all those I have yet to save. I’ll suffer anything I must for that chance.

Even now, I still don’t understand the full extent of my own power. No one does. The things I’ve been able to accomplish defy the very logic and reason I’ve carried as torches through the more mundane aspects of my life. Whatever I am, it’s something _apart_ from the ordinary people Lili is talking about; the idea that they might be able to alter my destiny seems absurd in a way that I can’t even begin to express. I have no illusions about the path that I walk — no one can trace these steps and expect to go back to the way things were before. Death seems like the kindest of the fates that lay before me. The very _idea_ of healing my wounds… it’s hubris, nothing more.

_Every time I think I can’t bear to walk another step… something, or someone, reminds me that the journey is worth continuing. No amount of logic or reason has ever explained it to me._

Hubris it may be, but that hubris has saved my life more times than I can count. And while I’ve always been grateful for it, I have yet to learn how to trust in it. That… is selfishness, of a sort. They want to give back, too. And what’s more… it’s all they can do. I’m the one with the phenomenal cosmic powers, after all. I need them as much as they need me.

“Sorry. I understand now, I think. And… thanks, Lili. I mean it. I’ll see you next time. Soon, okay? I’ll be in touch. And next time, we’ll order enough fish for us both.”

After relief replaces the scowl on Lili’s face, I pick up Delphine’s letter from the desk and bid her a friendly farewell, leaving her to finish taking her notes for the evening. The hour is late, and instead of trying to press onward with my head so full of thoughts and questions, I would rather put the interview out of my mind for awhile and make good on the promise contained in the letter. Though I’ll need Lili to arrange a meeting, since Delphine never gave me her assumed name or the means by which to find her, that doesn’t mean that I can’t respond in kind.

It’s been far too long since I’ve written a good love letter, and I’m curious to see whether my skills have gotten rusty. What scent will my own letter carry? The warm sands of the Ul’dahn desert? The eternal winter of Ishgard? The ocean breeze of Limsa Lominsa?

Or, perhaps, the less exotic scent of _cat_ that so endeared me to Hawk. At least this time, I’m something a little closer to a nobleman than a sickly stray.

_The savior of Eorzea ought to suffice. But I guess Hawk was right about one thing. If I didn’t ruin Delphine’s virtue before, I damn well mean to try now._


	9. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphail finds solace and pleasure in the aftermath of Lili’s gift, but the interview process is far from over. Bolstered by her kindness, he begins the third interview with the tale of his arrival at the Bending Birch, and of his introduction to its vile proprietor — a man that will stop at nothing to see the stubborn, headstrong, and hopeful youth put in his place forever. TAGS: minor character death, childhood trauma, child abuse

“A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark.”  
—Dante Alighieri

The fire before me flickers with a warm radiance. All around me burns for malms, from the bare soles of my feet to the tips of my ears. The blaze centers in the deepest part of my chest, aching outward from the inside. With gentle fingertips I reach out, fearing its kiss and yet longing for it all the same. Unlike a _real_ fire, the flames are soft, and smooth, and silky; but the heat remains, guiding me back to the truth and out of the depths of my dreams.

I am no longer asleep. The scent of rose shampoo tells me that much and more.

The first dim rays of sunlight illuminate the bare curve of her shoulder beside me; she has pushed away the rough blanket that covers us, too heavy in daylight against the shared warmth of our skin. The petulant look on her sleeping face dares me to pull the covers down even further, exposing more — but for now, I am content to watch, playing with her now-scarlet locks like the pet that I was, and am. Red suits her, I think; her temper and passion both.

Behind her is what can only be described as a second Calamity. Against the far wall, a table sags under the weight of several untouched plates of Ishgard’s finest. A half-empty bottle of red rests in a bucket of melting ice. The simple adventuring garb she wore yesterday lies in careless heaps across the floor, interrupted by the bright crimson of my usual attire. She left me no room or patience last night for my carefully-planned advances; I should have seen that coming from the start. Since when have I ever had the upper hand between us?

I’m briefly taken by the question of how she might look wearing my ostentatious jacket — red upon layers of searing, reckless fire — and little else.

The heat between us grows, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the sun.

Almost as if she can sense my distress, she turns to face me, mumbling something incoherent in her sleep as she moves. The blanket falls away in her wake, rewarding me with the view that I refused to take for myself. It is almost impossible to tear my eyes away from her pale skin and delicate frame. Though I once called her mother a classic Elezen beauty in my mind, the woman before me defies such reductive description. Only appreciative silence does her justice.

I no longer wonder what Hawk feared from me.

In the distance, a small chronometer on the wall rings the six-o’-clock bell, and the smile that had formed on my lips fades with the echoing chime. In the aftermath of my hastily-adjusted plans for this meeting, I have waited too long to enact the final step. For a moment, I am five years old again, a sturdy knapsack filled with memories against my shoulder, looking up into the kindly eyes of a woman fifteen times my senior.

_Like as not you’ll want to go before she wakes, anyroad. She loves you, y’know. She just has a funny way of showing it._

It _was_ funny then, when we were still kids — but her motives are much clearer now. Ever since the moment that I opened the door of my room at the Cloud Nine to find her waiting there, tears in her eyes and a mocking, dangerous smile on her lips, I’ve found it harder and harder to walk away. And if that weren’t enough, Lili has invested so much in righting this wrong from my past.

But still I remain the _Warrior of Light_.

I know what _forever_ means, for people like me. It means that I should have been gone a bell ago at the latest. There’s work to be done, and Eozea cares naught for the way my heart and body chafe at her demands. I am a fortunate man to have had this moment at all; to look into her eyes as a strong, capable woman and spend a few hours learning the many ways her lips can form my name.

But outside, the Ishgardian winter awaits.

I take in the sight of the fire before me one last time, trying my best to commit it to memory; the lighter, faded strands that remind me of the summer-haired girl she used to be, and the rich, brilliant crimson streaks that signal danger to all who lay eyes upon her now. The delicate peak of her nose and the long lashes that seem to go on forever. The slight glow in her cheeks, as if she still remembers the way our hearts beat together in the evening silence, asleep.

Now that I’ve strayed so close, the distance between us will never hide the scars that linger on my skin, and I have no wish to forget them. For me, leaving will be a mercy. But this time, I’m aware of the pain I am about to cause her. The least that I can do in her honor is remember the joy that we found together.

With all the caution of my five-year-old self, I lift myself up and over her sleeping frame, trying to avoid jostling her out of her blissful repose. Unable to fully ignore my acrobatics, she stirs, but does not wake — the effect of the red wine, perhaps. Safely perched on the edge of the bed, I rest a comforting hand at the small of her back, relying on her to mistake the gesture for an unspoken promise that I will return in a moment. It is what I want to believe, at least.

A few heartbeats pass between us there, warmth flowing from her body to mine one last time. At last, with regret tearing at my heart, I stand up—

“Heh. Red-handed. I thought as much, you sneaky son of a—”

I miss the last thing she says in the middle of noticing that she has grabbed the end of my tail in a tight fist — like old times. Caught off guard, I stumble backwards into the bed frame and end up sitting down harder and faster than I expect despite my sharp reflexes. From the way I sprawl helplessly into her lap, I know without needing to ask that this was her intent from the beginning.

_Twelve damn it. Why do I even bother?_

I look up into her eyes and find myself burning again. Though she holds me close like the lover I’ve become, the look in her eyes is more akin to the dark, bitter emotion I remember from the time her mother told her she’d have to get rid of me. This time, it’s not Hawk’s fault. It’s mine.

“Raph’ir. You know I’m not some simple-minded maiden. Maybe I used to be, but we laid that rumor to rest well enough, didn’t we? So I won’t have it. Not this time. Do you hear me?”

“I’m… sorry.”

It is the truth. Utterly inadequate, but the truth nonetheless. I want to laugh out loud — but it is a poor time for a jest.

_All hail the great Warrior of Light, laid low by his own tail. What a hero I’ve become! I’m sure Mama will be pleased as punch._

Her fist tightens around my tail, and I belatedly remember that her raw physical strength is one of the many ways in which she’s grown and matured.

“You’ve got a world to save, and so do I. I’m no Warrior of Light, but I won’t just sit around anymore while people are dying out there. While… while you’re dying out there.” She pauses for a moment, her breathing uneven, and I realize she is trying to hold back tears. “I can’t keep you for myself. Mama was right about that much. But I don’t want to pretend that nothing happened here. You’ve changed my life, y’know. So the _least_ you can do is say goodbye.”

Somewhere toward the end of her plea, my hands start to shake.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten in the last twenty-two years… but I can’t say goodbye again. I won’t. Not after the storm. Not after… everything.”

Perhaps it is because she is such a strong reminder of the place from which I came, but the memories of what I’ve lost are almost tangible, and I am once again drowning in the ocean, adrift from Mama and the others.

“Raph.”

Her voice is quieter now, and she lets go of my tail, confident that I won’t get up without her permission; I am not eager to prove her wrong as the blood flow returns to the end of my tail. The sound of my name — or rather, my mother’s — on her lips anchors me, pulling me out of the depths again to rest on dry land. Her fingers stroke my hair, soothing the rising dread in my heart.

“I’m not asking you to say goodbye forever, stupid. I just found you again, and I’m sure as hells not going to let you disappear on me a second time. But I wanted this chance to show you how much I’ve changed, not to tie you down or ask more of you than you can give. It hurts, but I’d rather know that I said everything I should have this time. I don’t want more regrets.”

She leans down, maintaining eye contact with me until the moment when her upside-down lips touch mine, gentle and yet full of intent. The blaze I’d forgotten against the chill of the ocean returns, and I respond in kind, trying to commit this, too, to memory.

She’s right, of course. Denying her a chance to speak her mind makes me no better than the mother she fled. She came to see me with full knowledge of what I’ve become; she knows that my heart and soul belong to Eorzea now. And even so, it is all worth it to her, for just one night. I’ve made the same choice for myself.

_She’s as brave as I am. I should reward that bravery with my own._

“Very well. If you have so much to say, then perhaps I should sit here and listen before I run off to save the world. There’s no better view in Eorzea, anyway.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, and she shifts her weight out from under me in order to press her entire body up against my chest by way of response. It isn’t long before we’re both locked in a heated embrace, her voice a husky whisper against the outer shell of my ear.

“I forgot. You were always the one of us that was good with words. Maybe I’d better show you how I feel instead.”

This time, as the fire begins to overtake me, I remember Lili’s words from the last time we spoke. I have a duty to Eorzea, but also to myself.

Perhaps there is a world to save, and perhaps I am already two bells behind, and perhaps it is all so very selfish of me… but I want to hear what she has to say so much that it hurts.

If Hydaelyn comes knocking, I will tell Her I am furthering the cause of Her Light.

* * *

Several bells later, I return to Gridania, whistling a long-forgotten tune to myself as I make my way toward the Carline Canopy in search of Lili. Despite my upbringing deep in the heart of the natural world, I’ve never found myself at home amidst the whispers of the Shroud, and my feet trace the path without stopping to take in the sights. My preference is still for my humble desert estate beneath the glittering Thanalan stars, and I’ve served under Admiral Bloefhiswyn for so long that the Lominsan waters feel like I’ve known them for all of my life.

Perhaps I settled in my ways too soon to give Gridania her due appreciation, but I have far too little time of my own these days in which to change my perspective.

Lili is waiting for me in a private room that I’m sure I have seen before on one of my previous visits. Her notes are scattered in front of her in what I hope — for her sake — is some kind of organized mess. The ancient books that serve as her eternal companions tower over her, rising up from her desk like pillars of stone in need of a good polish.

I glance at the spine of a random yet familiar title; it’s a copy of the Fortemps memoirs. I’ve never had the courage to open my own copy, but I know all too well that my name features prominently throughout the text. It was not so long ago that the tales within were my daily life.

_Damn that old man. He shouldn’t remember me as fondly as he does. And yet, countless copies of my undying heroism make it into the hands of strangers every day. It’s… baffling._

Despite the sobering thought, my mood is too light to be tarnished so easily in the wake of my morning tryst, and I smile at Lili, finishing out my whistled tune as I lower myself down into the chair across from her. By now, sitting for the interview process is second nature, and though I am once again reluctant to forge ahead, I have long since resigned myself to the promise I made. Even if it is only partial payment for the smile on my face today, Lili has earned my trust and my faith several times over. I will not allow myself to hesitate further.

I look down into a pair of narrowed, bespectacled eyes.

“Thal’s _bloody_ balls. How many bells were you betting I’d burn before you _blundered_ in?”

I glance over at the chronometer near the door; I’d agreed to meet her at half past nine in the morning. The device helpfully chimes in with the actual hour: two o’ clock in the afternoon.

“Huh. Would you look at that. It’s a shame such a lovely piece is malfunctioning on such a _remarkable_ level. I’ll make sure Mother Miounne hears about it on my way out.”

“Maybe Miounne ought to mark _you_ as malfunctioning, you miserable mook!”

Lili bangs her tiny fist on the desk to punctuate her outburst, and I will myself to perform a startled reaction to settle her nerves; the sound is little more than a gentle tap to my delicate ears, though the murderous intent behind it echoes like an earthquake.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. This one’s all my fault. I didn’t even stop to slay any dragons on the way here. You can yell at me if it’ll make you feel any better, but I’m going to take a wild guess that you _knew_ this was coming. There’s no way that a smart lady like yourself _wouldn’t_ assume the worst after hunting down the Warrior of Light’s childhood sweetheart as a _personal challenge_.”

She scowls at me for a few moments, trying to maintain the act, but in the end, she shakes her head and lets a wide smile confirm my guess. “Fine. You’re no fun to fluster when you’re floating. I was starting to worry that smile of yours was a rumor, too. I’m… relieved.”

Plenty of people throughout my journey have shown me kindness over the years, but I can count on both hands the number of them that ever cared about seeing me smile. I’m the one that is, and should be, relieved to know that I have someone like her on my side.

“Well. Might I relieve you further, then? Say, over lunch and a lengthy chat? I fear your hard-won smile may not last, given the subject, but you’re welcome to it for as long as it holds. Or did you want the exact details of my meeting with Delphine? It might take awhile.”

As I intend, her face passes through several shades of white and red before landing on a neutral shade of almost-normal pink. “Let’s focus on your flight from the farmhouse. I’m too old for odes to titillating trysts.”

How she manages to get through that sentence without tripping over her own tongue, I have no idea. I laugh, unable to shake the feeling that I ought to ask her to help me with my own vocal training for the stage, when — if — my duties as the Warrior of Light someday come to an end.

In the meantime, though, I have a story to tell. And for now, at least, the sound of my voice is steady and calm, bolstered by the memory of the fire that yet calls to my heart.

I pray it will be enough to temper the chill of the bitter events to come.

* * *

The Bending Birch was _enormous_ , from the perspective of a five-year-old born and raised in a forest cave. Three entire floors, decorated with neatly-spaced, spotless windows that gleamed in the sunlight. The wooden sign bearing the Birch’s name was old, but the engravings looked new; the lettering was a vivid red. It picked up the color in the flower boxes out front, drawing my gaze up to the inviting entryway. Despite the weight of the grief and fear I carried with me, the building seemed like the answer to all my problems, tied up in one neat, beautiful package.

I might have noticed the odd silence that permeated the air, at an hour when most children would be rising from their beds and begging their parents for playtime or breakfast. Instead, I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and climbed the short flight of stairs up to the entrance. My first knock was too polite and hesitant to raise anyone inside. By the time the door opened with a creak, my knuckles were sore and I was somewhere in the middle of my fifth attempt.

The Hyuran woman that peered out at me seemed to be around thirty summers old. She looked almost as tired as I knew I did. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, severe bun suggesting elegance, but her aproned dress was covered in smudges, stains, and small tears, and it seemed to fit her poorly. At my height, I couldn’t miss the fact that the buckle on one of her shoes was loose. One of her rough stockings was starting to slip down her leg too, bagging a little at the knee. The sight was more entertaining than I expected or understood at the time.

Noticing the direction of my curious stare, she cleared her throat and tugged the errant stocking upward again, doing her best to pretend that no such incident had ever occurred. Eventually she sighed and looked down at me with a neutral expression, smoothing the rumples in her skirt.

“Welcome to the Bending Birch. Can I help you?”

“Um. I’m looking for a new family, ma’am. I was told I could find one here.”

For a moment, her lips twitched into something approaching a smile, but it didn’t last long; it was a shame. Smiling, she was almost as beautiful as Mama. “Precocious, aren’t you?”

“Thanks!” It sounded like a compliment. In hindsight, I’m not certain it was.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Master Berke’s a busy man, and this morning has already been full of… surprises.” She stepped back, gesturing toward the hallway behind her; I could make out a fancy carpet lining warm, wood-paneled walls with matching trim. “I’ll show you to the lobby, but you’ll have to mind your manners after that. I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

I had to hurry after her as she started walking, leaving me no chance to explain that my mother had taught me only the _best_ manners, or to ask what a lobby was. Despite her unkempt appearance, she moved with impressive speed; only the fear of not being home in time for dinner prompted such heroics from me or my siblings. By the time we arrived in the Birch’s so-called lobby, I was almost out of breath, slightly sweaty, and struggling to keep up.

The room left an impression, to say the least; it made sense that they’d use it to host their important clients. A fireplace at the back wall warmed the entire room to the level of a comfortable summer afternoon. Twin velvet couches flanked a narrow, elegant table topped with glass; I could make out the distorted covers of various books I’d never heard of through its surface. Tall, winding staircases stretched toward the upper floors, and I found myself wishing Allaz could see them; I was certain _he_ could have built them even _taller_.

I was about to say as much to the woman in front of me, but for some reason she’d stopped moving without explanation, leaving me to stumble headlong into the backs of her legs — and her amply-cushioned rear. Muttering an embarrassed apology, I craned my head around her side to see what the problem was, and came face to face with… _him_ , for the first time.

If only it had been the last, too.

He was tall for a Hyuran man; a so-called Highlander, from what I remembered in my mother’s books. The expensive tailored suit and tie he wore fit every contour of his muscled body with purpose, leaving little to the imagination. His long, mud-colored hair hung in his face, masking his eyes in a way that Mama would never allow; between the strands, over one eye, I caught a glimpse of a jagged scar. A delicate monocle perched over the other, gleaming in the firelight. I’d never seen one before, outside of a book; it gave him an air of _mystery_ , I thought.

Then he opened his mouth, putting the lie to his glamour.

“ _There_ you are, my kitten. I must confess, I rather thought you’d been in a _hurry_ to get back to your work, but I see my fears were unfounded. And now that you’re _back_ …” The wide grin he flashed showed all of his teeth at once, though it never reached his eyes.

As close as I was to her, I could hear the woman between us curse under her breath. My delicate ears picked up the way her breathing quickened in response to his words. “We have a client, sir. Perhaps you missed the sound of him knocking over—”

“Yes.” The Highlander’s grin didn’t move an inch, nor did he seem to notice my presence. “Quite right. You’re still new here, of course. I’ll forgive you for forgetting your priorities this time. I trust you’ll reward my generosity with your continued attention to the Birch’s many… affairs.”

“Yes… sir.” Her voice caught in her throat as she bowed her head to him, eyes downcast. “But I dare not interrupt your _important_ business. I leave him in your… capable hands for now.”

And then, before I could even begin to make sense of the strange nature of the conversation or the uncomfortable air in the room, she bowed at the waist and took off in the direction of one of the adjacent rooms. Her pace somehow exceeded the one she’d kept with me.

“Thanks, ma’am!” I yelled after her, determined to be polite and charming, but the only thing it earned me was the immediate disappearance of the man’s toothy smile.

“Must you shout at the top of your voice? Listen, kid. Rhalgr’s piss doesn’t take kindly to voices above a whisper, and I’ve had my fair share already. Next warning will be from my fist.”

I stared at the closed hand he showed me, its knuckles firm and tense. I wasn’t sure what _Rhalgr’s piss_ meant, but the rest of it was unmistakably the kind of threat that Vohl would have made, once upon a time. Mama’s reactions to that kind of talk were always swift and merciless, but never in her life had she threatened to harm one of us; a swat on the tail or across the head was something far different than a fist. Even _Hawk_ hadn’t gone so far, and she _hated_ me.

“Um. I can whisper, but that’s not a nice thing to say. You should apologize. I’m sorry if I bothered you, but I’m here to find a new family, and Delphine’s mother said—”

A deep guffaw interrupted my explanation. “Oh, _this_ is rich. Me, apologize to some piss-ant kid that’s got more manners than brains? Actually, you’ve got more _brains_ than anything else. Don’t pick fights you can’t win, you scrawny little shite. And _don’t_ open your mouth again.”

He turned his back to me, but the damage was done. Between my exhaustion and the overt, unexpected threats of physical harm, my hands were shaking. Delphine’s grandmother had warned me that he was trouble, but I hadn’t expected to face someone so _angry_ for no reason at all. Though I wanted to name him a chocobo’s arse in detail by way of response, the part of me that longed for rest won out. Mercifully, the scowl on my face didn’t register as speech.

“Heh. Looks like you can shut up after all. Good. Maybe she’ll do the same, one of these days. She’s a clever one, but there are limits to my patience. The next time I get her clothes off, I’ll be sure to hide them. I wonder what she’d be willing to do to get them back.”

My stomach lurched as he spoke. Though I didn’t understand the particulars, my older siblings had explained many of the things that Mama once suffered at the hands of Vohl, Kaja, and Seril’s father, and some of them sounded akin to what he had proposed. The woman I’d met was in danger… and for that matter, so was I. My gaze shifted to the hallway behind me as I considered running for the exit. The authorities couldn’t be far away in such a small—

“Do it, kid. It’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier.” His eyes were on me again, and his lips were twisted into a sneer. “I won’t even stop you. The alley’s pretty warm this time of year. I’m sure the stray mutts won’t mind a _pussy_ to play with. They’ll appreciate the scraps.”

_I’m here for a family, not for him._

_Maybe there’s something I can do to help her._

_I still need to sleep. I’m… so tired…_

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I lowered my head. Delphine’s grandmother was right; fighting would serve no purpose at all. If I followed her advice and tried my best to be polite, obedient, and charming to win over a family, it would only be a matter of days before I found myself in a better place. I had to believe in her, and in Delphine, and in Allaz too.

A long silence stretched between us, and I could feel his smirk bearing down on me; the bastard was reveling in his victory, enjoying every moment of my discomfort. It was the moment I first learned the meaning of true hatred, though it would not be my last lesson in it from him. In the end, a low, distant thumping sound from the hallway brought an end to our stalemate.

He looked at the chronometer on the wall and swore fit to make a pirate blush. “First appointment already. Do you have any idea how much of my precious time you’ve wasted by running your mouth?” He lunged forward, directly in my path, and before I had time to register his movement, he’d punched me in the gut — or so I thought. I found myself holding a massive book with attached quill in both hands; it seemed I hadn’t noticed him carrying it in all the chaos surrounding my arrival. My precious knapsack clattered to the floor, unsupported.

“Name. Age. Parents, if you’ve got ‘em. I’ll make sure _someone_ pays for your stay, even if you don’t. And let this be your only warning, kid — the last time someone tried to report me to the brass, they didn’t find the body for three weeks. I won’t care, but _you_ might.”

And then he was gone, down the long hallway, to answer his own door. If I hadn’t been terrified and exhausted beyond rational thought, I might have cared that it served him right.

The steady tick of the chronometer filled the fresh silence around me, helping to focus my racing mind as I sat down on one of the couches and opened his filthy book. Inside were countless pages filled with even lines of names and information — the only evidence I’d seen of the other silent children in his so-called care for the year. Eventually I found an empty line, and with quill in hand, I did my best to scrawl his demands in the only unkempt, awkward letters that I knew.

_Raph’ir Sahra. Five. Dead._

By the time he led an eager family of four past my seat and into the rest of the house — to view the more _well-behaved_ children _first_ — the tear stains I’d left on the page had already dried.

* * *

A loud thump disrupts my focus on the story at hand. Every time I lose myself in the telling, it feels almost as if I am speaking of someone else; letting their tale pass through me like a conduit, rather than the actual events of my life. My attention shifts upward in time to see that LIli has jumped down from her seat, wearing a thundercloud where her face should be.

“ _That man_ … is no more than a monster. I’ve seen similar scofflaws in Ul’dah’s alleys, but _he_ aims to surpass them all. It’s _disgusting_ , the things they dare to get away with.”

Oh. She’s angry, of course. To a soul, every person I’ve brought myself to tell has reacted in one of two ways; fury, or absolute silence. I am not sure which I prefer. The anger reminds me of the child I was when I first came to him; proud, defiant, outspoken, and determined to see justice done by the rules instilled in me since birth. The silence reminds me more of who I became in his hands; prepared, cautious, thoughtful, and calm in any situation.

It has taken me a long time to reconcile both aspects of myself, and to find the happy medium between them, but isn’t that a normal part of what it means to grow older?

I give Lili a grim but reassuring smile in response. “He was no picnic in the Shroud, I’ll grant you. I found out he was charging families three times over for the simple pleasure of handing us off, if you can believe it. The kids all talked about the things he did to make sure his so-called ‘boarding fees’ got paid. Those of us with nothing… he always found a way to take what he thought he was owed, no matter who it hurt. Hawk had the right of it for once.”

I let out a long sigh, shrugging my shoulders in a vain attempt to release some of the tension that accompanies my words. “At some point during my time at the Birch, though, I think it all… stopped hurting the way it should have. I was pretty stubborn at first. If I’d realized faster how to pretend to please him, maybe things would have been better—”

My attempt at soothing Lili’s ruffled feathers falls on deaf ears, and she narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for that bastard’s behavior. Berke, of the Bending Birch, was it? Putting his name in print is _not_ good enough. He deserves a good _drubbing_.”

“For that, you’d have to wait in line.” A brief smile crosses my face as I think ahead to the story’s end — but I’m well ahead of Lili there, and I don’t want to spoil the surprise. “In any case, Thaliak had his way with him in the end. He wasn’t a young man to begin with, and the lifestyle caught up with him years later, or so I heard. Shame it didn’t happen sooner, though. There were so many others like me afterwards… and so many before, too. I think… it might have been better if I’d killed him. And I thought about it. _Many_ times. Even as naive as I was back then.”

 _But I wanted a_ family _, not a bounty on my head — or a juvenile delinquency report on my record. I would have done anything for that. Or perhaps… I was already starting to break._

Lili is still watching me, though concern has replaced the anger in her gaze. I pause to make sure that my face and demeanor are as neutral as I perceive them to be. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d broken down without realizing it, after all. But no; the mental block is still there, separating the calm, rational part of me from whatever residue yet remains of my hatred for him. I’ve heard that such things are unwise to foster, but what would I accomplish by stirring up the ancient dust of a dead man’s grave? He is _gone_. The world is a better place now.

And yet I still can’t speak his name without the aid of liquid courage, twenty summers later.

“So… do you want to hear the rest of this charming little love story? You might have guessed from context, but I’m afraid my plan to stay at the Birch for ‘only’ a few days turned out to be exactly as idealistic as the rest of my childhood. Painful or not, even I can’t talk about five years in the seventh hell during one session. We’ll have to be selective.”

Lili’s eyebrows disappear into her hair as she shakes her head in wonder. “ _Five_ …? Twelve forfend… you’re not some silly little Warrior of Light. You’re a sodding _saint_.”

I wait for her to climb back into her chair before I begin, but the expression on her face as I talk about _him_ says she’d rather be anywhere else.

_That whoreson’s making enemies even now that he’s dead and buried. Even if that’s the only justice he ever sees, I’m glad I get to be the one to serve it to him._

_For those that were lost. For those that can yet be saved._

* * *

Our first meeting set the stage for the _cordial_ relationship that we had for the entirety of my miserable stay at the Bending Birch. Looking at things now, what else could I expect? Raised on a steady diet of fairy tales, legends, and history books, I thought myself the secret hero of some epic novel, awaiting my chance to shine. With a little sleep in my system to bolster my resolve, the stars soon aligned to bring justice to the wicked by my hand; waiting silently for a family while _he_ grew rich on the suffering of others was a coward’s lot, not mine. He _had_ to be stopped.

The first week of my tenure taught me everything I needed to know about the other children under his roof. Those that had known him the longest were terrified of me and my _reputation_ from the start, and made no attempt to respond to my eager overtures of friendship. The newer arrivals were more willing to talk, and showed less resistance to the idea of aiding me in my _noble_ attempts to interfere with his wretched schemes from dawn to dusk. Of course, _that_ couldn’t last. All he had to do was reward them with better food whenever they ratted me out.

He did not wield his threatened violence — at first — but the full extent of his pettiness came to light in answer to my insubordination. After the fourth or fifth incident involving my name, he opted to solve his problem with _hard work_ and _effort_ , specifically _mine_. The endless parade of chores that might have suited a child twice my age and build kept me well out of sight from all the best families, making any chance of escape from the Birch impossible. When I thought to turn to the staff for an intervention, he simply reminded them of the price of their defiance.

The women he employed were all akin to the maid I’d met before, arranged in an ever-changing hierarchy based on his mood for the day. The adaptable ones got nicer uniforms and brief respites from their work. He forced himself on _all_ of them. The thin walls of the orphanage rooms did little to mask the truth or protect what innocence yet remained in me. The woman I’d met, however, was a special case like me; a shrew in need of taming, to his twisted mind.

The anger I had not yet learned to master sent me upstairs at midnight, a few short weeks into my stay; he’d left the door to his private chamber unlocked while she screamed. The incident ended faster than I expected. A year or two of clumsy hunting, overseen at all times by my mother and siblings, did not prepare me to face a violent, _angry_ Highlander with only the sharp stick from my knapsack at hand. But still, I held my ground — or tried to, at least.

His insides were monstrous, but he was still a man on the outside. Though my rage and callow youth gave me the courage to face him in the first place, the fear and guilt that came with it proved to be too much to bear — for me, at least. He introduced me to the floor of his chamber in exquisite detail when my trembling, half-hearted jabs fell short. It surprised nobody when I came downstairs for dinner the next night with my arm in a sling and a black eye.

The branch Delphine’s grandmother gave me went toward fueling the fire in his chambers, as did all the books I’d squirreled away beneath my bed to read in the quiet moments I had to myself. All of it hurt less than knowing he’d burned Vohl’s drawing book along with the others. I had no reason to think he’d known its significance, but that did little to ease the pain.

It was a day or two later when the maid I’d tried to save _quit_ — or so he claimed. I think the lie was evident to even his youngest charge at the time. Still haunted by my inability to save my family or Delphine from their plights, I grew restless and despondent at her loss. My wild imagination saw her around every corner, roaming the halls as a vengeful spirit bent on the demise of those who had failed her. After days of refusing to come down for meals, he ordered me to his office to account for my absence; he laughed at the notion and handed me a mop.

In the weeks that followed, my despair underwent a gradual transformation into a second, and better, plan. My dedication to the virtues of politeness, obedience, and charm when it came to finding a family didn’t mean _anything_ as long as he still had reason to keep me in the darkness. The price of my continued defiance would see me as dead as my family; _his_ better nature, such as it was, needed to be the target of my appeal if I wanted to escape the Birch.

Vowing to bury my hatred, I turned to the ultimate goal of survival — by _pretending_ he had broken me, once and for all. I knew better than to think he would believe me at first, after such a brazen attempt to harm him, but I was still foolish enough to trust that he would do so in time; that he was rational, capable of forgiving and forgetting my checkered past in light of my fresh obedience. It proved to be the last of his lessons that I still needed to learn.

Two months after Vohl’s drawings turned to ash, he interrupted my regularly-scheduled detailing of the guest bathroom tiles to make the strangest announcement I’d ever heard: a potential match waited in the lobby, eager for a look at me. By then, I’d already had the pleasure of watching countless other orphans leave the Birch in the arms of new parents and guardians, most of whom bore smiles as bright as the glass top of the lobby table. I’d almost given up hope for a family of my own — but it seemed that my ruse was finally paying off.

Damp, filthy, and aching from my assigned task, I let him escort me through the familiar network of hallways, my mind racing with anticipation. Everything rested on my ability to _perform_ for the audience he’d selected, just as Delphine’s grandmother had told me. She’d been clear about the process in hopes of helping me secure a kind future, but aside from the act I put on for _him_ , the only _performing_ I’d done at that point in my life was with kids my own age.

I needn’t have worried about my acting skills. The aging, well-dressed Elezen couple seated in the lobby lit up at my arrival, despite my lack of preparation and cleanliness. The master’s eyes took in every inch of my face and body in silent judgement; his lady was the one to fuss aloud over my “silky” hair and “clever” eyes. It felt familiar on some level, like Delphine’s insistence on treating me like a pet, though I’d never met an adult with such eager _hands_ before.

Remembering my discussion with Delphine’s grandmother, I smiled and nodded in all the right places, letting the woman take her time with me. Her husband continued to say nothing at all. Were all Elezen males so taciturn? It wasn’t long before I found myself seated on the couch between them, far too close for comfort despite the urgent need I had for that closeness. In time, perhaps, I could learn to love them; not as a strange replacement for what I’d already lost, but for themselves — for the family we could become together by choice.

A soft click in the distance alerted me to _his_ sudden absence; the door to the lobby had closed behind him as he left. That was unusual. I’d watched as he loomed over each adoption proceeding before me, ensuring a _mutually beneficial_ arrangement with each doe-eyed family that stepped into his parlor. We were, after all, his bargaining chips more than victims of circumstance. Perhaps I had satisfied the requirements of some unspoken test in his twisted mind; it would not be the first time for _that_ , though I prayed it would be the last.

A gentle, lingering touch on my knee brought my attention back to the couch and the room around me. The lady beside me had grown too bold in her pawing. I turned to look at her, only to realize she’d moved closer to me than she was before; her face was inches away from my own. The scent of her was not roses, like Delphine, but orchids past their prime; something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t explain why. Doing my best to be polite and subtle, I shifted my weight toward her husband in an attempt to distance myself from her wandering hands.

It was only after he stood and unbuckled his belt that I began to comprehend the danger I was in. I watched in stunned silence as his wife tore through the buttons on my shirt, whispering soft reassurances in my ear; it would all be over soon, I had nothing to fear, and it wouldn’t hurt at all — so long as I stayed quiet. Unable to reconcile my instinctive knowledge of the wrongness of the situation with my desperation to leave the Birch behind, I almost believed her — but the urge to panic took over when her hands reached parts of my body that Mama always called _private_.

I didn’t know that I was capable of screaming at the volume and pitch that I did that day; I thought I was too old for such things, and had been for at least a year or two.

Even so, I felt as if bells passed between the moment I first began to wail, and the moment when _he_ returned, his body language somehow both proud and resentful at once. I was in no mood to care at the time; hearing his footsteps in the hallway lessened the woman’s excitement enough to stall further progress, and her husband’s cautious advance afforded him the ease to adjust to the disruption with feigned grace. By the time _he_ laid eyes on the three of us, I was the only one still half undressed and trembling, my knees up to my chin for protection.

It was all so very easy, from the perspective of grown adults in tune with the world outside. All they had to do was claim that _I’d_ seduced _them_ , not the other way around. After they left, taking my dignity and his plans for a swift resolution with them, he shrugged off my protests as if they were air; it was all to be _expected_ for failing to please _my_ family enough to be _chosen_.

The wicked smile on his face as he ordered me back to my duties in my torn shirt confirmed my darkest fears. He’d _known_ what would happen from the very start. Killing two birds with one stone was as simple as letting nature take its course straight into his pocketbook; whether I’d rejected them mattered naught. Getting rid of me would have been best — but the chance to make sure I understood that my life was _his_ , and _his_ alone, was of equal value.

As the weeks passed into months, that stark reminder of my fragility served to ease my transition from _pretending_ at brokenness to bitter truth. My memories of Delphine and her grandmother, and of the family I’d once loved, grew distant and cold. It was so much easier to be the blind, obedient slave he demanded than to hold out hope for a miracle that I knew would never come. By the time the first _honest_ families began to inquire about the silent, hard-working young man at the orphanage, I had no will left to encourage their interest in me.

My role was clear, and would remain so for five long years — long enough to watch every other face I knew find peace beyond the walls of the Bending Birch, far from her self-appointed king.

* * *

It takes Lili several ticks of a bell to realize that I’ve stopped talking. I recognize the familiar look of someone attentively listening to a lecture; it is somewhere beneath her furrowed brow, the wet, chewed end of her business quill, and the torn fragments of paper that she has been ripping from her stack of extra sheets to displace her silent rage. I had expected that she would interrupt me, or beg for a recess, before now — but I am grateful for the chance to lay the sordid details to rest all at once, even if I regret the clear impact they have had on her.

I regret the impact they have had on _me_ , too. There are still times that I ask myself whether the act of selling my soul and giving up on my wounded pride was the right solution, even if it kept me alive long enough to turn the tables in the future. How many good people did I reject by my own choice, simply because I was afraid? How much faster might I have found succor, if I’d only had the strength to reach out in spite of him, again and again?

The answer is ever the same; I did the best I could with what I had at the time, as I do every day for the sake of Eorzea. It is not a _good_ answer, but it’s the only one that I have.

Fortunately, Hydaelyn did not choose me for my _perfection_.

I give Lili a weak smile, waving a hand in an attempt to bring her focus back to the room around her. “Hey, now. Staring into space is my line, isn’t it? I should trademark that.”

She blinks at me, her eyes widening an ilm in recognition; then she looks down at her desk and her notes, grief etched onto her childlike features. “I… never thought I’d take notes like these. Everyone said you were so much more than a ham of a hero, but this… this is truly horrific. I want the world to see the suffering you’ve silenced, but… that seems so _wicked_ to say.”

I fold my arms behind my head, lean back against my chair, and let out a long sigh. “I thought about not telling you, or asking you to keep it off the record. Like I said, _he’s_ dead now, and I wouldn’t ask his family to suffer instead. The Birch is a respectable institution focused on _helping_ kids these days, or so I hear. Even if you found the names of that Elezen couple somehow, they wouldn’t mean anything to me. I only ever saw their faces. But…”

I pause briefly, taking a deep breath. “What you said about letting others help carry my burdens wasn’t wasted. Nobody _needs_ to know what happened to me, and there’s nothing that anyone can do to fix it — but if even one person out there hears this story and changes the world for someone else in my place, then it’s worth telling. Otherwise… monsters like him always win, and there’s not a damned thing I can do, even as the Warrior of Light, to change it.”

More than that — it’s the only way to take what vengeance I can, now that he is beyond the reach of justice. I want every child that passed through his hands to laugh long and loud enough to reach him in the deepest layer of the seventh hell. I know not what the final days of his life brought him, but I pray yet again that peace and comfort did not attend his passing. Mama would probably frown on that… but she’d have killed him herself, if she’d known.

Lili’s expression is a blend of triumphant joy — my acceptance of her words is responsible for that, I am sure — and continued anguish. I am about to suggest that we adjourn for the evening to give her time to recover, but she sets her jaw and tightens her grip around her long-suffering quill, steadying it in her hand. Her shaking gradually stops, and she focuses her gaze on me.

“You’ve been brave enough to bear with me, Ser Somnalune. No hesitation or horseplay, even when I would have excused it. Ending things here would haunt me, so… let’s go until we get to something _good_. And then, perhaps, some Stormdancer sushi for supper?”

Now she is speaking my language! Even tales of the Birch are not enough to spoil my appetite when it comes to fish. “Deal. Though I must warn you, the worst is well and truly over now. As it turns out, five long years of poking a dead chocobo chick wasn’t as much fun as he thought. Taking away the constant drama _bored_ him, so he decided to get rid of me. It was the best choice he ever made, really. I almost wish I could thank him.”

Lili snorts in derision, but her stiff shoulders and tense jaw seem to relax one ilm at a time as I talk. “What _I_ wish… wouldn’t be welcome in public places. But I’m looking forward to finding out what fated family he found for you.”

Like most of my tale, there are parts of this topic that yet weigh heavy on my mind; fond memories of things I’ve lost, ghosts of the many mistakes I’ve made, and lies that I’ve told myself and others to escape the bitter truths around me. Still, the many spaces between them are filled with a dazzling light; the slow return of joy to what was once a barren landscape.

Though he, too, is gone now, I have never forgotten the old man that stepped into my life on that distant spring day. Perhaps it was all against his own wishes, but he became more than my guardian on paper; he helped me learn how to live, even when it still hurt to try. I have done my best to honor that legacy over the years, though the hands that he once held are now much bigger; though I know that I never lived up to his dreams for me, and I never will.

In the end, I have only lived up to my own — such as they are.


	10. Arcane Phenomena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third interview continues as Raphail’s long stay at the Bending Birch takes a heavy toll on his mind and heart. As he commits himself to the lonely, miserable future in front of him, fate intervenes to pull him back from the brink. The strange old man he encounters proves to be his salvation, ending his brutal tenure at the orphanage and guiding him along the first steps of what will soon become his new ordinary. TAGS: childhood trauma, child abuse

“You cannot change what you are, only what you do.”  
― Philip Pullman

“End of the line, _pussy_.”

He’d summoned me to his office after breakfast, for reasons that I couldn’t fathom — or care less about, to tell the truth. Though I was there at his grotesque whim, he studied the thick sheaf of papers he held with his full attention, sparing no greeting or explanation for me. If I squinted, I could make out what appeared to be a familiar blank signature line at the bottom of the last page; its presence indicated a scribbled copy of the Birch’s adoption paperwork.

“You’ll _like_ this one. He’s the only bastard I’ve ever met with his nose in more books than _you_.” Even bored, the sneer in his tone was obvious; even an alleged, grudging kindness had to arrive couched in vitriol. “Don’t hurry to thank me. He probably ain’t even known the pleasures of a woman. Your future, in a nutshell. Pity all those chores I gave you didn’t do a damn thing for those scrawny muscles of yours. When you fail him, it won’t be _my_ fault.”

It was always the same. He was always so certain I’d fall for the same old tricks he’d used to rile me on the day we first met. He still didn’t understand that he’d already _won_.

“No thanks. I have work to do.”

He laughed in spite of my standard refusal. Did he somehow think I would agree, given how many times he’d tried to lure me into a false sense of security? “Damn right you do, you little shite. He wants a _servant_ , not a sniveling brat, and I’ll make sure he gets what he’s paying for. Unless, that is, you want to set up camp in the woods. I hear they get a little wild at night.”

That was a new threat. He hadn’t suggested putting me out on the street since the day I arrived at the Birch. I raised my head for the first time during the conversation, though I lacked the courage to look him in the eye. “I don’t understand. Did something happen to my room?”

“You could say that. Some other brat needed a bed, and yours was always empty. Or did you think my maids didn’t tell me you were up wandering the halls at night? No wonder you couldn’t keep up with your chores. What an ungrateful, irresponsible little—”

Predicting the rest of his insults, I let my attention skip ahead to more important things. There was no reason at all not to take him at his word. I hadn’t expected the maids to stay silent, nor had I cared about his discovery of my absences. The simple truth was that I hadn’t slept well in years. Walking, unlike tossing and turning in bed, let my mind wander with a hint of purpose.

Still, I hadn’t expected something so _minor_ to be the final straw for his patience. Why would he have suffered an _actual attack on his person_ without tossing me to the wolves, if he was going to act on such a convenient technicality? He didn’t need a servant _that_ badly. There had to be another explanation, and as I stood there mulling over what I knew of him, it came to me.

“Hawk said you’d charge her twenty percent extra as a favor for taking me in, but… you charged her my boarding fees too, didn’t you? And she… paid them off. Or stopped paying. And now you don’t need to keep me anymore. That’s the real reason, isn’t it? You were _waiting_ for this.”

He shrugged, but he might as well have nodded. “I don’t know who ‘Hawk’ is, and I frankly don’t give a damn. But if I were you, I’d think more about pleasing that old mutt in the lobby, and less about me. As far as my records are concerned, you’re leaving _today_. Whether you do it with him, or in a body bag, is up to you. I suggest you make your decision now.”

A distant feeling akin to hope fluttered somewhere in my chest, but it died before taking wing. I already knew the kinds of people he tried to place me with; no doubt the old man in question was another pervert or another monster in a long line of the same.

The _decision_ , then, was between a certain death at the hands of nature — not much different than that of my family’s, after a fashion — and a probable death at the hands of some random villain. It was almost impossible to decide which was better at a moment’s notice, but the fear of what Mama would say if I climbed into her arms again at my age won out.

“Fine. Sign them. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He raised one of his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon? I thought I made myself clear. I’ll sign them _when_ , or _if_ , he chooses you. If he doesn’t, then your pretty little limbs ought to fetch an equal price on the black market. For your sake, I hope you’re ready to kiss arse.”

So. It seemed that I would have to _fight_ for my worthless life, if I intended to keep it. I’d always known it would come to that someday, though I’d long since lost track of my awareness of the fact. But Mama’s will was absolute, and I turned my back on him, leaving the room without another word. Several maids watched my descent to the ground floor of the Birch; I had every faith they would report it to him — in time for his standard morning _entertainment_.

Anger and grief for the maid I’d tried to protect, long since buried, pressed at the edges of my consciousness — and disappeared, giving me the momentary strength I needed to push open the heavy lobby door. Inside, the sunlight streamed down through the tall windows with a blinding glare; I had to take several seconds to let my eyes adjust to the onslaught. Once I could see again, the distant shape of a hunched Hyuran Midlander sitting on one of the sofas caught my attention. His presence, at least, was no lie; this was clearly the man I’d been sent to meet.

The details of his features came into slow view as I watched him from across the room. I estimated his age to be around fifty summers and change, based on the silvery streaks in his otherwise muddy blonde ponytail. The high-collared dark blue longcoat, tall leather boots, and rimless spectacles that graced his aging figure were spotless; tiny crystal gems in multiple colors accented the golden stitching up and down his sleeves. This was a gentleman accustomed to money, without question; the perfect sort of target for someone like _him_.

The intense focus on the stranger’s lined, tired face made me wonder what mysteries lay in the open tome across his lap, though his posture did not seem to invite inquiry. An additional stack of books on the floor near his feet stretched for ilms past my own height, forgotten — or perhaps saved for a more opportune moment. I shifted my weight from side to side, knowing from personal experience that it would _not_ do to disturb him mid-passage, and watched as the chronometer on the wall continued to mark the time in slow, steady, uninterrupted ticks.

A quarter of a bell passed in silence.

Torn between my growing uncertainty and the instinct to focus on my manners at all costs, I moved toward his seat on the couch, doing my best to keep a low profile. My eyes swept quickly over the covers of his books that were close enough to see: an assortment of florid words with more letters than the number of years I’d lived stared back, interspersed with various mathematical figures and diagrams. The book in his lap featured both in tandem: several small pictures flanking a large map, with a long list of handwritten numbers scrawled in the margins.

Mama had always said that math built on itself, much like a house of cards; it was impossible to reach the top of any problem without understanding the layers beneath. I’d learned everything I knew from her, of course; raising eight kittens by herself mandated knowledge of numbers, if only to balance the family budget and stock the cave’s supply room. She’d done her best to cultivate my natural curiosity for them, since I’d taken to them better than any of my siblings. Most of the ones in the Midlander’s book, however, were far larger than any I’d seen before.

Hovering so close to his seat, I realized that he was muttering to himself under his breath. The whine in his tone sounded like Vohl’s or Kaja’s during one of Mama’s lessons. Every so often I could pick up a word or two between mumbled oaths; _models_ , _figures_ , _predictions_. _Arcane phenomena_ , whatever that was. It all sounded so grand and mysterious; I had no idea what sort of work might call for such esoteric knowledge, nor could I hazard a guess. Whatever he was up to, it dealt with matters _well_ beyond my purview.

It was none of my business, of course. In truth, I suspected that a _proper_ servant would have left him to his own devices. But the childish curiosity that plagued my early years had yet to leave me, despite everything I’d suffered at the Birch. Taking a few steps closer, I found myself close enough to read the handwritten numbers in detail, following along as his finger passed over each one. I recognized the symbols beside them from Mama’s teaching, and somehow the memory of sitting in her lap as she taught me each one was as fresh as the day it was made.

And so it was that when he put his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples in annoyance for the fifth time in a row, I found the voice I had misplaced so long ago.

“Seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-two… um, with another zero at the end.”

His eyes had glazed over in frustration at his work; at the sound of my words, he blinked slowly, turning his head to glance at me for the first time since my arrival.

“ _What_ … did you say?”

His voice was softer than I’d expected, though still deep and well-spoken. After so many years at the Birch, I knew the sound of irritation well, but he seemed more surprised than angry.

“Sorry. Mama didn’t teach me to count that high, but I know it should be there. Sir.”

He regarded me in silence for a few heartbeats, and it was clear that he was mulling something over in his head. Then he looked back down at his list of numbers and rested his head in his hands again, a wry smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“Heh. Out of the mouths of babes, I guess. I’d like to say these old lenses are to blame, but… credit where credit is due. It’s seventy-three thousand, eight hundred, and twenty, by the way, with the zero in that position. You may as well learn something if you’re going to interrupt me.”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to.”

“ _Don’t_ apologize. There are few things worth less in this world than apologies.” The man in front of me sighed, and before I had time to even think of apologizing _for_ apologizing, he’d closed his book of mysteries and tucked it inside his coat. “Your manners are generally better than I expected, at least. I assumed that animal wouldn’t know quality from chocobo dung.”

It took me a moment to puzzle out the target of his jab, and several moments more to push down the resulting urge to grin in solidarity — and relief. Was it possible that he understood the nature of the rotting heart at the center of the Birch? That… would be a first.

“Thank you, sir.”

His gaze fell on me again, his expression akin to the way he’d studied his book before my outburst. “Don’t thank me yet. Master Berke had _plenty_ to say about you, and I’ll have your account of it at once. You know what they say about lying down with dogs, and I won’t harbor fleas in my estate, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Cats get them too, or so I’m told.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant at all, but the clear part was that my reputation preceded me. My only remaining chance for mercy was staring me in the face. It was plain that he had no love for the Birch or its sadistic master, but what could I say to convince him to take me in? Everything up until now had been _his_ word against mine; doubtless there were armfuls of fabricated evidence awaiting anything I chose to claim against him. Did it even matter what I said?

_Listen well, my dear one. There are three things a gentleman never speaks ill of: the poor, the dead, and the foolish. He knows he is but one step ahead of them all._

Somewhere deep in my mind, the lessons that Delphine’s grandmother taught me unshelved themselves and shook off their coatings of dust, giving me the answer I needed.

“I can’t change the past, but I can do better in the future. I came here hoping to find another family after mine died, but… I’ll work as hard as I have to for you, even as a servant. I can cook and clean and everything. I already do it here. The only thing I can’t do is let him kill me, or… or let you… touch me, if that’s your plan. I’d rather take my chances in the woods.”

Unbidden tears welled up in my eyes at the thought. The memory of that Elezen woman’s determined, groping hands, and of her husband’s blank, filthy stare as he leaned over me, still woke me up at night from time to time — and others had followed in their footsteps. Unable to meet the Midlander’s gaze, I looked down only to hear a derisive snort from his direction. At first I thought he was laughing at me, but the sound was mirthless, bitter, and cold.

“Perish the thought, boy. People have talked for _years_ , as is their wont, but I’ve far more to concern myself with than _rumors_.” I heard him shift position to face me, his hands resting on his knees; I focused on the sparkling crystal accents on his gloves. “I’m _nothing_ like him, and I won’t have it suggested that I am. Do you understand? _If_ I choose you — and I am promising _nothing_ — you will do as I bid you because I am your guardian, and I _expect_ it of you. Fear is a simple weapon against the weak-minded, but facts and figures will do, too, and better.”

If he’d noticed my tears, it made no difference; he was not here to comfort me, merely to assess my suitability for the job he’d proposed. Fearing to speak lest my emotions further get the better of me, I nodded — but the simple gesture missed its mark. “What happened to those manners you had when you first came to me? I asked you a _question_. A polite response is mandatory. Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile, if you can manage it. Tears have no place in public spaces.”

I mastered his first two orders with surprising ease, but I couldn’t stop a single tear from streaming down my cheek and down into the neckline of my rumpled shirt.

“I understand, sir. I’m sor—”

Facing him as ordered, I had no way to miss the wrinkle of annoyance that formed on his forehead as I spoke. How easy it was to forget his many rules; he seemed to come up with new ones faster than I could process them! And yet, on some level, my desperate mind clung to them like pieces of a puzzle that might fit together well enough to save my life. Unlike the Birch’s foul master, his rules were clear, detailed, and fair; I could learn to obey them, given time.

“Well. You did catch yourself, at least. You’ve a quick mind, boy. And you’re a lot more obedient than that milquetoast sap suggested. That mother of yours was no slouch.”

I was so stunned at hearing his unexpected praise for her that I didn’t even flinch when he stood up and approached me, fishing a crisp, white handkerchief from his coat pocket. With a brisk motion, he wiped away the errant moisture on my face — and then dropped to one knee, looking me in the eyes. It was the first time anyone other than Allaz had done so.

“I’ll be straight with you. My work keeps me busy at all hours of the day. There are reports to file, dissertations to write, articles to publish, and debates to attend. If I don’t do my job, lives from one end of this star to the next will suffer. I can ensure that you’re educated to the standards of today’s elite, and that you will not want for food, shelter, or tasks to fill your idle hands. But I do _not_ intend to fill the role of surrogate father for you. Master Berke was right about one thing: you’ll need to temper those emotions of yours in order to best serve my estate.”

Part of me wanted to argue. Had he any idea how long I’d been without my emotions at all? Perhaps it was unseemly for a boy my age to lose control of them from time to time, but it was only because I no longer remembered how to manage them. Perhaps I’d never learned in the first place. Still, I knew that the servants in Mama’s stories didn’t have time for such thoughts. The day-to-day tasks would pile up, pushing the things I still lacked to the depths of my mind.

It was an acceptable trade, if only to get away from the Birch.

“I can, sir. I will. If you’ll give me the chance, that is.”

He stayed where he was, searching my eyes; for what, I knew not. Even now, I am not sure what he hoped to find. But in the end, he nodded to himself and stood back up with a soft groan. “Well. It would still be easier to hire someone from the local tavern, or perhaps an adventurer’s guild. Less concern about labor laws, too. But I trust that your need for the job will ensure your focus far more than my coin ever could, and it’s in my best interest to see you succeed, as I _do_ need a servant that can keep up. Don’t turn out to be a lost cause, all right?”

My eyes widened. “D-Does that mean you’ll take me? Sir?”

A rare smile graced his face, reaching all the way to his eyes. With the morning sunlight behind him bleaching his gold and gray mane to a pale ash, he seemed to transform before my very eyes; the stern, calculating man was gone, leaving behind someone that might well have passed for an older brother — or the father he claimed he would never become. Perhaps it was only my overactive imagination at work, but I wanted so very badly to believe otherwise.

“I’m a busy man. If I had time to play pointless games with orphans, I’d be no better than Berke. And we’ve already established that I _am_ , I believe. So you can stop stammering.”

He didn’t lecture me about the triumphant smile on my face, though I thought for sure he would. Instead, he offered me one of his gloved hands, which I took with pride and anticipation.

“Hughes. It’s my name, and yours now, too. I’m Caspar. Some people write it with a K. I’ve had to return _so_ many mislabeled documents intended for me to the Arcanist’s Guild back in Limsa Lominsa… but now _you_ can do it for me. The mailbox isn’t far from the estate. First lesson.”

“But that’s only one letter off of the right spelling. Can’t you just open them anyway, sir?”

His smile disappeared immediately, but this time I mastered the urge to apologize.

“ _Only_ one letter? Depending on what you’ve written, boy, _one letter_ can be the difference between a smudged summoning circle and a demon from the seventh hell. Or the difference between a yearly stipend and a tax audit. They’re fortunate it’s _only_ my name. And I _insist_ that you stop laughing at once. I don’t teach comedy. I teach _facts_. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. Um… is Master Hughes something I can call you, too?”

“You’ll be calling me that soon enough in public. You might as well get used to it now.” He pursed his lips, looking down at me. “As for you… what was your name again? Berke took your papers before I had time to read them. He seemed quite sure that I wouldn’t want them.”

I thought about rolling my eyes, but didn’t. “Raph’ir. Raph’ir Sahra. People always try to shorten it to Raph, but that was my mama’s name before she died. The ‘ir part is important ‘cause I’m the sixth of her sons, even if some of my brothers had Seeker blood in them.”

A thoughtful look crossed Master Hughes’ face. “Right. I’m not sure why I expected anything but a standard Keeper of the Moon matronymic. Perhaps I assumed too much, given your precocious mind. It’ll be interesting to see how well you take to my teaching. I’ve met plenty of cats in my lifetime, but none quite like you.” While I was busy trying to figure out if I should thank him or object to the insult, he continued. “That’ll be a mouthful on the forms. I’ll have to start sending them all back to correct _that_ spelling, too. I’ll think about what to call you instead.”

It wasn’t a question, and I’d already agreed to obey his wishes. Still, the idea of wearing someone else’s name hurt to think about. Mama had given me _hers_ — and I was the last of the Sahra family. Even though the role had terrified me at first, I’d come to accept it with pride. But in the end, I made the decision to accept Master Hughes’ intent for me, knowing that I would always be Raph’ir Sahra at heart — even if my true name faded from public record.

 _I’m sorry, Mama. I can still apologize to_ you _. And I promise I won’t forget you, even if I’m Raph’ir Hughes now. Or… or whatever I’m going to be. I hope he picks something good._

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded approvingly at my words, but as he did so, the look of concentration he’d worn earlier returned with a strange, darker edge. “Good boy. Now then, I think it’s time to make this official. I need to get back to my desk before I forget the number you helped me calculate. And I’ve had my fill of this pathetic excuse for an orphanage.” His eyes swept the floor and landed on his massive pile of books. “Time for your first task. There’s a chocobo cart outside with my name on the bird’s bridle. Load up those books. Let’s see how quick you can be.”

“Yes, sir… but what do you plan to do?”

“Such an _impolite_ question… but it has everything to do with you, so I will answer you this once. I intend to go upstairs and sign your adoption paperwork. And unless I miss my guess, I’ll be forced to soil my boots with all _manner_ of filth to get that fop’s attention long enough to do so. He knew I would never miss the obvious signs of what he’s doing up there while we chat. I have to assume that’s why he was in such a hurry to get rid of the both of us.”

Now that I was listening for them, the distant, fading screams of some unfortunate maid invaded the morning stillness of the Birch. The fact that I’d almost stopped noticing along with everyone else scared me more than the intimate knowledge of what went on in his room.

“I may be his esteemed client at the moment, but I am a bit… vexed by the sum he quoted me, to say nothing of the way he manages his employees. I’ll have him account for my displeasure before I hand over my hard-earned gil, though I suspect he will try to object with his fists. Truth be told, I rather hope he does. I’ve a few theories I’ve been meaning to _test_ , you see.”

Despite the clear and present threat in his words, I was not prepared for the sudden and dangerous smile that crept onto his face. His eyes seemed to glitter with a hidden mirth drawn from the depths of the seventh hell. I hadn’t noticed before, but a fancy tome with an ancient, faded cover hung from his side, filling the space where a traditional gentleman would wear a single dueling blade. His left hand rose to rest on the tattered cover; his thumb ruffled through the tops of the soft pages as if he were stroking a beloved pet.

Did he plan to use the _book_ as a weapon, somehow? No. That was _ridiculous_. He must have had a regular weapon concealed in his coat somewhere. Either way, the idea scared me. Torn between a newfound sense of pride in my soon-to-be master and caretaker, and a pit in the bottom of my stomach, I set my jaw in place and took a deep breath.

“Be careful, sir. He’s… he’s really strong. I tried to stop him once when I was younger. He turned me into popoto soup. I’m not that good at fighting, though. Maybe you are.”

He glanced over at me, and the hellish smile faded into the same wry smirk that he’d worn when I answered his math problem. “Your concern is touching, Raph’ir, but you may rest assured that I do not need it. Pray be ready to leave by the time I’m finished, though. I will see that Berke is adequately compensated for your sale, but I fear the authorities may object to my little _bonus_ if they arrive before we depart.” When I frowned, his face turned impatient. “Yes, yes, and I’ll tend to the lady’s hurts _first_ , of course. Unlike him, _she_ never asked for this.”

I failed to say anything further until he’d already left the room, relying on me to carry out the task he had assigned without question. Perhaps I might once have stopped him, or begged mercy of him, even knowing all that I had suffered — but the memory of the poor maid I’d met on my first day came to my mind, easing my guilt. If I couldn’t lay her spirit to rest, then perhaps Master Hughes could. Testing theories, at least, didn’t sound like _killing_ , no matter what _he_ deserved.

People like him would never listen to reason. Only the language of strength would serve. It was unfortunate… but it was also the way of the world beyond my family’s cave.

It took me five trips up and down the hallway to the cart outside, hauling armloads of books stacked higher than my head, to see the job done. A final quick glance into my _former_ room confirmed that my mother’s fishing notes — tucked into my shirt as always — remained the only thing of my own that I needed to pack. The clothes on my back had been gift enough over the years; _he’d_ been none too pleased at having to provide for my five summers of growth as it was. It might have bothered me once; now it made everything so much easier to leave behind.

As I turned to make my way outside for the last time, exhaustion began to set in. My morning chores, combined with Master Hughes’ urgent request and the total sum of my sleepless nights, were beginning to take their toll. I dragged myself back down the hallway and into the passenger seat of his cart with the last of my fading strength. A hesitant chirp from the long-suffering draft chocobo he’d mentioned welcomed me without incident, though I sensed she had never seen anything quite like a _cat_ or a _boy_ before in her life.

Serving a man like Master Hughes, I had little doubt she’d come to expect strange new happenings every day. That might have sounded like fun, if I wasn’t so unspeakably _tired_.

He emerged from the false cheer of the Bending Birch’s entrance not long after my arrival. Though his fancy spectacles rested ever-so-slightly askew across his nose, his grim expression told me nothing about the final outcome of his plan. As I watched him through half-lidded eyes, I realized that none of the maids had interfered with our attempts to leave the premises. That was strange, but asking him was as useful as asking the clouds passing in the sky.

It seemed that whatever had taken place in my absence was none of my business, and would remain so until further notice. But he didn’t look _injured_ , and that was enough to ease my troubled mind during the long ride through countless farms, fields, and mountains en route to his private estate. I slept better for the first five hours of the journey than I had in the last five years.

Several summers later, he told me the rest of the story over a mug of watered-down ale and a confident smirk: how Berke of the Bending Birch had indeed raised his fist only to find himself weeping in stunned silence, holding what little remained of his magically-decomposing manhood in hands that shook with the effort. Though swift medical attention was able to restore _basic_ functionality some time after the fact, he was never the same again, and he retired to parts unknown not long after the incident — using the funds he acquired from my sale.

His maid, as promised, escaped with her life, though it had taken the rest of the staff in tandem to rouse her from her faint after the initial shock of Master Hughes’ entrance.

It took additional summers to realize he _hadn’t_ made it all up.

* * *

Lili howls with laughter as I cap off the end of my fateful stay at the Bending Birch; there is a mischievous smirk on my own face despite the _delicate_ subject matter. For all my innocence and hesitation at the time, I no longer question whether justice was served that day. In fact, it remains one of my deepest regrets that I never bore witness to the show.

I glance past her shoulder to the windows behind her; the afternoon sun is fading slowly into a violet-hued dusk, with Menphina’s glory radiant in sharp relief against the gloam. All at once I am too aware of my recent late night; for some reason, sleep was not a priority at the time. Master Hughes lectures me in the back of my mind as I let out a wide yawn, not even bothering to cover my mouth. If Eorzea is alarmed by the sight of my natural fangs at this point, I haven’t done enough in my career to make a difference — and I know that Lili won’t judge me for them.

“Sorry. I think that sushi lunch you proposed a few bells ago might have turned into dinner or worse. One of these days, I’m going to lose my voice — not that I think anyone will notice.”

She waves her hand at me, trying to dismiss the apology — and then stops, looking as if she has suddenly invented the solution to making chocobo dung smell like lilies. I am about to ask her what I missed when she glares at me and crosses her arms over her chest.

“After so many summers, you _still_ haven’t stopped saying you’re sorry. Have you learned so little from Master Hughes? Perhaps I should press his point, since he’s not here himself.”

“It’s a shame he missed the chance to meet you, Lili. I could have won the competition for Eorzea’s shortest mother-in-law. That purse _has_ to pay better than adventuring.”

She snorts — loudly — at my retort, but for the first time since I met her, she declines to argue further. I’m not surprised that she might find my words flattering on some level. The similarities between her and my late master have been on my mind from the beginning. I know well that he never married before the end; the rumors had it that he fancied other men by then, though I suspect the simplest explanation was his own — he was too busy for such things.

If he’d met someone like Lili, though, perhaps he could have understood what he was missing when it came to the world beyond his books. And if he _had_ , perhaps everything between us might have ended very differently than it did. But _that_ was a story for another time.

I rise from my seat and make my way over to her, bowing ever so slightly at the waist and offering her a hand to help her out of her own. “Oh, well. I’ll settle for that sushi, I guess. If we don’t hurry, I’m going to fall asleep before we get there. At least you won’t be surprised when you see me sign my name as Hughes on the final bill now.”

The embarrassed glare I’m used to returns for a split second in light of my chivalry — but she is starting to get more comfortable with me too, and it shows in her recovery time. She only hesitates for a split second before grabbing my hand with purpose. “Right. But you said he swapped your natural name for a new one. Is he the reason you’re Raphail, then?”

With her hand in mine, I make a grand gesture of leaning down to brush my lips across the back of it — and barely contain my laughter when she panics, almost overbalancing herself on her way down to the floor. Keeping people on their toes is, after all, the mark of a consummate professional — and I always aim to please, even outside of the job. “Congratulations. I don’t believe we’ve met. That will be _Master_ Raphail Hughes to you, technically. The name is as old as Eorzea, or so he claimed. I haven’t bothered to verify it for myself.”

A tiny, balled fist swings at the unguarded tip of my tail, making enough contact to disturb its comfortable sway back and forth through the air. “Q-Quit your sodding… _sorcery_ and stick to the question! Raphail’s nothing like Raph’ir. I know there’s a story there somewhere.”

“I thought you might come up with it yourself. See, Master Hughes was many things… but he was first and foremost a seasoned traveler. Many of those books I carried for him came from a little-known continent at the time called Doma. He never fit in well with his own people, and I think something in their culture and philosophy spoke to him when nothing else did. As long as I lived with him, he always had a soft spot for the place. I always wanted to see it for myself.”

Lili continues to look confused, and I resign myself to spelling out the rest of his scattered logic. “I’m given to understand that the Doman language doesn’t distinguish between certain letters of the alphabet the way ours does. Taking that into account, _Raph’ir_ became _Raph’il_ — like my brother, but backwards. Then he took out the apostrophe for ease of spelling in documents. Apostrophes, of course, typically signify omission of a letter in our own language.”

I shrug, giving her a smile. “After plugging in a bunch of vowels to try them out, he realized that adding an A made it sound like the Hyuran name _Raphael_. He ran with it. And so did I. Every week, I sent back at least five documents assuming the traditional spelling instead. I don’t know why he thought it would save him anything, but… well, I’d learned not to question him without need. And we’d both gotten used to it by that point. Neither of us felt like changing it again.”

“So you aren’t named after some ancient seraph. I was starting to worry.” Lili shakes her head, bemused. “At least he left you your mother’s legacy, though.”

“Yeah. He never gave me any indication that he cared about that in the slightest, but… I want to believe that was part of his plan from the very start, even if it might well have only been the easiest thing to do in that situation. People never struggle with the Raph part.”

I wait for Lili to finish tidying up the scattered papers on her desk and pick up her coat before making my way to the inn room door, propping it open for her with my foot. Though this will not be a romantic date in any sense of the concept, I find myself growing unexpectedly nervous. Each time that she and I have been alone together, it has culminated in an outpouring of long-buried thoughts and memories — at her request, of course. It will take me some time to adjust to her company as a friend, rather than the subject of her many detailed questions.

I hope to use the opportunity to learn more about her, if she’ll let me. I may not be telling her story, but one of the things I’ve come to love most about my job is the way that Eorzea’s people always give of themselves, even when they don’t mean to do so. Discovering all the little things that lie beneath each person’s skin and bones has kept me alive when so little else has. No matter how long and how far my journey takes me, I hope to keep learning from them all. They remind me of what I’m fighting for, even when my own path becomes too difficult to bear.

Without them, I couldn’t have made it this far. And that is the only truth that remains, after everything is said and done. Whether I am Raph’ir Sahra, Raphail Hughes, or Raphail Somnalune matters far less than ensuring they live to see another dawn.


	11. Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distracted by his recent dalliance with the Lord Commander of Ishgard, Raphail begins his fourth interview by relating the story of his life in his new home, Hughes’ many expectations of him as the adopted son of a wealthy man — and the lovely, mysterious tutor that Hughes hires for him. Though Miss Emi’s job is to put Raphail’s advanced (and scattered) thinking into some semblance of order, she also serves as the household’s heart in the absence of Master Hughes’. TAGS: bisexual awakening

“You study, you learn, but you guard the original naivete. It has to be within you, as desire for drink is within the drunkard or love is within the lover.”  
—Henri Matisse

The morning sunlight thrusts itself at the windows of the Drowning Wench like a drunken nunh at its namesake, hellbent on forcing the world to its knees in absolute submission. I cover my aching, bloodshot eyes with a hand, grimacing as the rays batter my senses in ways that no primal ever has or will. It is too Twelves’-damned early for such nonsense by any estimation but Lili’s, and I focus my growing irritation on her arrival — or rather, her conspicuous lack thereof.

 _Nobody to blame but yourself, Sahra._ Sleeping in _is for heroes that stick to less… notable bedfellows. And you’ve certainly never been one of_ those _, now have you?_

Despite my misery, I fail to keep a wry smirk from invading my face. The _arrangement_ that Ser Aymeric proposed over dinner weeks ago remains quite simple: my discretion, in exchange for his occasional company — to sate our curiosities, as it were. Unfortunately for _both_ of us, my usual habit of disappearing before dawn only aids in the necessary subterfuge.

Aymeric has always been a master at the negotiating table for as long as I’ve known him — so the surprise for me is not that he would dare to make such an arrangement, nor the unexpected eagerness with which I conceded to his terms. It’s the fact that he would find me _curious_ at all.

_How did I get here? I was born in a cave. The first silver spoon I’ve ever seen in my life was at Nanamo’s banquet. The only High Houses I understand are trees. I may clean up well enough when duty demands, but Mama’s kittens weren’t made for tea and crumpets. And beneath all this Warrior of Light nonsense, I’m… just a kitten. Still. Surely he must know that by now._

Not that knowing has ever changed his opinion of me in the slightest. For all I know, it is one of the things that draws him to me. Delphine was, and is, the same.

_Pleasing him isn’t the hard part. I’ve always been a fast learner. Keeping the secret from Lili, though… she’s a clever sort herself. And dawn comes so damned early in Ishgard. At this rate, I’m liable to forget my own nameday once every few weeks, never mind what’s off limits._

Shifting in my seat, I stretch and yawn widely into the empty room, not bothering to cover my mouth. The chronometer on the wall has always been three minutes fast, which puts Lili at ten whole minutes late, not thirteen. In the back of my mind, a seed of worry starts to take root. Though her — my — story is not yet published to the masses, it is still possible that some wayward ne’er-do-well might think to target her in order to foil my plans or ruin my day.

_She’s always so punctual… but I’ll give her fifteen before I start asking questions. I’ll just… rest my eyes a little until then. Sleeping would be rude, but I can always… just… rest…_

As I nod off in my chair against my own will for the fifth and final time in as many minutes, a loud commotion in the hallway outside the room demands my immediate attention. I am on my feet and most of the way to the door before my scattered mind begins to make sense of the particulars of the sound: books, tens of them, falling from a middling height and scattering like heavy leaves in a windstorm. The clink of broken glass and stomping boots.

The purple prose of a tiny, _angry_ Ul’dahn native, fit to surpass that of a Lominsan pirate.

I open the door with my right hand firmly planted on the hilt of my rapier.

Lili’s usual tight ponytail is missing, leaving a mop of unruly, silver-tipped brunette in its place. Her glasses are hanging from one ear, threatening to join the rest of the chaos scattered around her feet. True to my hearing, there are books and journals _everywhere_ ; the same ones that she brings with her to all of our meetings. It is simple to assume they were lodged in her arms at some point in the recent past, prior to some unfortunate incident.

She spies me and kicks at one of the novels, sending it into my ankle with enough force to leave a mark on the skin beneath my boots. Beneath it, the inkwell she so often spills in her haste to keep up with my tale lies in a shattered heap.

“Don’t you _dare_. One _word_ and you’ll wish you were _dead_.”

I squat down to the floor and begin to scoop tomes and notebooks into my arms. She knows enough about me to break me now — and my cleverer words fail me anyway at this hour. I don’t even notice when the hem of my coat strays into the errant pool of ink, but she does.

“Oh no. _No_. The scribes can’t cover the cost to clean _that_ … it’s cashmere or worse! Can’t you be _careful_ , you careless _cat_? Urggggh… I’m _cursed_!”

Lili buries her face in her hands. With full arms, I glance down at the darkening patch on my coat, knowing too well the number of times I’ve done the same thing to myself on a sleepless night. Fortunately, my habit of sewing my own costumes for the stage means that I am already in good hands. Given enough time and patience, I know the coat will recover enough for continued use — but only if I tend to it before the fibers have time to steep in the unfortunate brew.

“Shhh. You’ll wake the entire Wench. Let’s get these inside, all right?”

She lifts her face and stares at me, disbelief plain in her eyes — but she recovers quickly and sets her jaw in place, following my lead. Between the two of us, it takes only two trips to haul the soggy mess into the room, and I lock the door behind me before starting to unbutton my coat.

_Second bloody time today I’ve had to take this damned thing on and off. It might look flashy, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the pain in the arse it takes to—_

Something book-shaped collides with my bare chest and falls to the ground with an indignant thud. Given the look on Lili’s astonished face, she must have been aiming for my head.

“Sod it, Somnalune, this is _plainly_ not the place or time for… for _that_!”

It takes me a moment to even understand the problem. She is so much like my own mother that the very idea of mistaking my current state of dress for something untoward seems like a drunken jape, and a poor one at that. I shrug in the face of her accusatory blush.

“How, pray tell, did you think I would manage to wash this thing without taking it off? If I don’t get this into a bucket in the next five minutes, they’ll mistake me for a black mage. I mean, I do have _some_ training in the art, but I’m not exactly—”

She shakes her head and lowers her eyes to the floor as she interrupts my explanation.

“So you’re asking me to sit here and stare at a bare _bust_ for the next seven bells?”

“You _could_ stare out the window instead.” I make a face, trying to be funny, but her sullen glare directed at the floor leaves no room for discussion. I decide to take pity on her by changing the subject. “How did this happen, anyway? I thought the Eye would cover the cost of a servant or two. Are you telling me you’ve carried those books to our meetings _yourself_ every time?”

Lili sighs, looking almost as tired as I feel.

“I’m… a corner case, you could say. The Eye writes all the fiction that’s fit to print. Put plainly, the _rotten ribaldry_ that everyone _wants_ to read. You and your amazing adventures are the only hope we have of telling the true stories that might make history anymore. Servants are standard for sensationalist slop, but me? I lug my _own_ library. Maybe it’ll make a difference.”

Knowing the Mythril Eye’s reputation, I am less surprised than I could be at her words. After all, she needed to convince me of her good intentions to earn the interview in the first place. But it leaves me all too aware of the limits of my own fame. There are times now, few and far between, where I start to think I might have the power to change the world around me… but for many, I am still the sideshow paissa I always was, newly clad in a crimson coat.

They are most likely right. But I still get out of bed every day in order to prove them wrong. And Lili is doing her part against all odds to make sure that my struggles are not in vain.

“Well, consider this part of your contract from now on. Your arrival time for these sessions should reflect the span of time we need to complete each interview topic — not the extra bell it takes you to get here. Let me know as soon as your airship docks in the future. I can spare a few extra minutes to help you carry books… even if they _are_ about me.”

Some of the exhaustion leaves her face in response to my no-nonsense argument. I watch as she starts to busy herself by starting the process of moving books from the floor to her desk in neatish stacks, working from the outside in. Only after the first two and a half are complete does she respond, and her eyes meet mine this time instead of glancing at my chest.

“Thanks. And… um… sorry for snapping at you. I guess a “careless cat” wouldn’t willingly work for free, would he? Least of all by lugging this lot around.”

The sheepish, affectionate glance she gives her books reminds me of my own attachment to my library at home in Ul’dah, and no further explanation or apology is necessary as far as I’m concerned. I leave her to finish the job in silence and tend to my coat, filling a bucket and taking a tailor’s seat on the floor next to it. If there is any hope of recovery, I will have to busy myself with scrubbing as we talk. Today, at least, perhaps such distraction will be less _necessary_.

Eventually, with everything in place, Lili hops up into her chair and breathes a sigh of relief. All traces of embarrassment are gone, and her focus is once again on the task in front of her.

“So. When last we left our lauded _legend_ , he’d found a new family and a house to call home. That bastard Berke was a page in the past, praise the Twelve. I guess you got to be the lofty lordling you always aspired to, huh? Well… sadly, something tells me _that_ isn’t true.”

The wistful smile I give her is genuine enough, though she has no way to know that my thoughts have been on similar topics this morning already. “You should have told me you were psychic, Lili. It would have saved us all so very much trouble if I’d known from the start.”

“Ha, ha. Let’s go, laundry lad. Start speaking. I’ll start scribbling.”

Squeezing fistfuls of black water out of my coat, I aim to please.

* * *

I first laid eyes upon the Hughes estate the morning after we arrived, to the best of my personal recollection. He told me once, years later, that I’d actually seen it the night before — but my long nap in his chocobo cart had done little to erase the years of exhaustion that Berke had left on my body and mind, and the memory failed to stick as it should have. It was just as well, though, that I forgot. It gave me more opportunity to take in the details with wider eyes.

The smallish room I found myself in defied the somewhat spartan expectations I had held of Master Hughes. The ornate couch I woke up on was softer and deeper than any bed I’d slept in before. If not for the overwhelming urge to explore my new domain, I might well have stayed in it forever. Someone — Master Hughes, I assumed — had draped a patterned blanket on top of me overnight. The decorative fringe along its edge tickled my face and skin as I disentangled myself from its warm embrace, reluctantly rising to my feet.

A sturdy-looking desk and accompanying chair against the far wall seemed like they fit right in with the rest of the more delicate furnishings, though I stuck my hands in my pockets to master the impulse to touch them all. Any one of the objects surrounding me would cost more than my life in a careless moment, and I knew even at my age the sort of child I was.

The best thing to do in such a situation was to find Master Hughes.

I’d understood him to be a wealthy man, but I was unprepared for the truth of it laid before me. Opening the door to my room, I could see that the building was huge by my limited standards, on par with the Bending Branch itself. The dark wood and expensive patterned wallpaper would have dominated the space, if it weren’t for the constant presence of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The thick drapes meant to cover them were tied back by an expert hand, though the sheer layers beneath still diffused the sun and masked the outside view.

The hallway before me was a mass of rich wooden doors, all closed. I stood there with my own door open, staring, for what seemed like bells. Finding Master Hughes in this maze-like palace would see me lost in some dark corner for the rest of my life at best. Perhaps it would be better to wait for _him_ to find _me_ — and after all, that couch _had_ been rather inviting. I let the door drift shut behind me, wrapped the blanket around my shoulders like some sort of fringed hero cape, and sat back down on the couch, crossing my legs like I thought a nobleman might.

It didn’t take long for someone to knock — but she was _most unlike_ the man I expected.

The first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t see her eyes. The ornate veil that covered her head and face exposed only her mouth and chin. Long, blonde tendrils of hair fell along and beneath her ample chest — accented by her delicate robes, of a design I’d never seen before. Her movements were quick and purposeful, and though I could see her lips form a gentle smile at the sight of me, the rest of her demanded as much attention and respect as Hughes himself.

“Good morning, young master. It is good to see you awake.”

Her voice was soft, rapid, and heavily accented in an unfamiliar manner, and I paused for a moment to try to parse her words. Sensing my awkwardness, she chuckled, and the quiet sound sent unexpected shivers through my body despite the comfortable warmth of the room.

“Forgive me. I will speak slower this time, if it pleases you. My name is… ah… _you_ may call me Miss Emi. Can you say that for me, please? I am told you are a quick study.”

For more of that smile, I would have swallowed my own tongue. I didn’t even think to wonder what other people called her instead.

“Um… Miss… Emi.”

She nodded beneath her hood. “He did not mislead me, then. That is well. Perhaps it explains why he… no matter. _That_ is a question for _him_ , not for you. And the look on your face tells me that he did not explain to you my purpose in this house. Is that so?”

I shook my head in agreement. “No, ma’am. Miss Emi. I just got here. Haven’t seen him since I woke up. I was going to find him, but I thought I might get lost on my own.”

“Tsk. I will have words with him the next time I see him. For now, it is enough to know that I am meant to serve as your instructor in the basics of formal education. Master Hughes has his work and research to conduct in addition to providing your care, so I am to stand in for those subjects that he cannot teach himself. Make no mistake, young master, I will expect you to _work_ , and work diligently. But I hope that we may come to be friends as well, if it pleases you.”

Her smile widened a touch, and something about it drove my childish need for attention into overdrive before I had time to think. “I always work hard! Back at the Bending Branch, I used to do all the cooking and cleaning. I read every book in the orphanage _twice_ before they got burned up. And Mama taught me everything she knew about numbers… well, sorta. I knew there was another zero at the end of one of Master Hughes’ numbers.”

This time, she covered her mouth to stifle what I thought might have been a giggle. “Pray never lose that eagerness, little one… though I fear we may have to begin by _structuring_ that knowledge a bit. Learning may _begin_ by rushing ahead, but it _lasts_ through careful reflection and repetition. The patience for such may… take some _time_ to develop.”

She moved her hand to the top of my head, resting it there, and I thought for a moment that I might have fallen asleep again, lost in a dream. “For now, let us begin our first day by testing the limits of what that clever mind holds. Once I know what areas need the most focus, we can dive deeper into the particulars that Master Hughes requested. He will have work for you too, of course, but I will leave that to _his_ discretion.”

I nodded obediently beneath her hand, and much to my disappointment, she pulled it back, letting it fall to her side. I followed along at her heels like a friendly puppy as she turned from me and made her way down the hall, leading me toward what I could only assume was my destiny.

Life at Master Hughes’ estate was going to be _amazing_.

* * *

“Hold a moment, Raphail. I wanted to ask you something.”

Three weeks had passed since my inaugural visit to Hughes’ estate. Befitting my new normal, I stood before the massive desk in his private study, my books tucked under my arm and my hat respectfully in my hands — like a proper gentleman _should_. The sun outside his magnificent windows drifted below the horizon, calling an end to my afternoon lessons.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

The impenetrable look on his face suggested that he’d found fault with me, or so I feared — but the wry smiles he’d given me at the Bending Birch were rare, I’d found. The habit of reading more into his stony silences than was proper came from Berke, not him; it had proven difficult to shake despite Miss Emi’s careful guidance. Still, he had agreed to exchange some of his precious time each day to see me for private instruction in mathematics. Miss Emi had _insisted_.

He glanced at me over the top rims of his glasses.

“It regards the expenditure of your personal allowance. I trust you recognize the receipts we studied today? I had quite the selection to choose from this week.”

“I do, sir. The bookseller gave me a discount on that copy of _Mundane Mathematical Matters_ , so I had enough gil left to pick up the third novel in the _Teller’s Tales_ series. The last one ended on a real cliffhanger, and the hero was just about to—”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure he was. With respect to your idle fantasies, boy, my _concern_ is for the fact that you seem to use our lessons in budgeting for this… singular purpose. The bookseller speaks highly of your manners, at least, but she seems to feel that she’s taking advantage of my coin at this point, to hear her tell it. There was talk of _free gifts_. I trust you understand that _fondness_ will not keep her business afloat. Gil is the preferred currency for settling accounts.”

He never understood what I saw in the Teller’s Tales, no matter how many times I tried to explain it to him. Miss Emi, at least, was always willing to hear the latest. She asked good questions, too. I still hadn’t come up with a suitable response to the last ones. How _would_ I have responded, if I were in the hero’s shoes? What _could_ I have done differently?

“Of course, sir. She’s made the offer several times. I’ve refused it, like you taught me.”

He sighed, rubbing at his temples.

“I’m aware of that. It shows in the receipts. Isn’t there something else you’d rather spend your gil on, once in a while? I thought a boy with your background might spend more time outdoors. The boys I’ve met during my travels have all had a penchant for empty calories, too. But every coin I hand you finds its way back to me in paper form. It’s… uncanny.”

“My lessons keep me busy when my work doesn’t, sir. That’s what I agreed to when you asked me to live here. I don’t need a lot, honest. I don’t want to waste your kindness on something I won’t use. Reading’s… what Mama taught me to do in my free time. It makes me happy.”

“And it contributes handily to that overactive imagination of yours, I’d wager.” The blank look Hughes wore shifted into something warmer. “Your intellect, too. You’ve plenty left for me to teach you, and you’re still too hasty at times, but the path has been less steep than I feared. Perhaps the gods smiled on you. What would that acumen be worth to a feral boy in a cave?”

He meant it as a compliment, but the underlying assumption bothered me as much as it had on the day I’d met him. Still, it wouldn’t do to tell him that I’d have traded every onze of it to have my family back again, so I said nothing at all in response.

Fortunately, he didn’t expect an answer. “Anyroad, perhaps I should have done this sooner, but… from now on, boy, your personal allowance extends specifically to things _outside_ the purview of that bookseller’s shop. I never intended for you to pay for your own education. If there is something you wish to read, come to me. I will ensure you have what you need.”

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline.

“S-Seriously? E-Even the Teller’s Tales?! Um… sir?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Within _reason_ , yes. I would prefer to keep your sensibilities on the subject of the realm _outdoors_ , but so long as the quality of your work and studies do not suffer, I will not restrict you. All I ask is that you consider the width of my ledger _before_ you indulge.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’ll consider anything you want me to!”

For a moment, I saw him smile — the genuine article — but it left his face before I could comment on it. Perhaps that was his goal, as it so often seemed to be. “I know you will. And that… concludes today’s lesson. I’ll be leaving dinner in your capable hands tonight, by the way. The annual tax figures for Vylbrand were in the documents you brought me earlier today, and I’ll be juggling sums for most of this evening. Pray keep your revelry at a reasonable volume.”

Thus dismissed, I turned on a heel to race out the door — and stopped myself, remembering my lessons regarding what Hughes had termed “basic decency.” I was yet too young and naive for the full complement of traditional manners, according to Miss Emi, but that hadn’t stopped him from making himself clear about his expectations for any child bearing his name. Taking deep breaths, I squared my shoulders, set my jaw, and put one foot in front of the other.

I was so lost in my excitement that I never saw Miss Emi slip through the door into his study behind me. If I had, I might have heard him splutter over a swig of misplaced wine at her astute observation regarding his behavior toward his own personal library, nonfiction though it was.

I might also have wondered why she was there at such a late hour for a _teacher_.

* * *

“…Raphail?”

My eyes were glued to the book in front of me. The hero sallied forth unto his next adventure, shining blade in hand, set against the blinding sun. His friends by his side, his future seemed so bright; so fearless, so free. What foe could he fail to vanquish? What evil could stop him from harnessing his grand destiny? He would save the world someday, ending all sadness and—

“Raphail.”

I turned the page, oblivious to the accented sound of the new name I’d worn for months.

“ _Raph’ir._ ”

My birth name broke through the fog, bringing my eyes upward. Miss Emi bent over my desk, her delicate chin and ample bosom _far_ too close for comfort. Her hands were on her hips. Her usual smile hid behind a stern glare that threatened to spell my doom. How did such a kind woman manage to look so _scary_ when she wanted to?! If it weren’t for the accent, I might have believed her to be a Keeper of the Moon matriarch herself.

“S-Sorry, Miss Emi! I… um… I thought it would be only one more page.”

She stood upright again, crossing her arms over her chest; either she’d noticed the direction of my careless stare, or it was a sign of irritation that managed to transcend both borders and generations. “And _was_ it only _one more_ page, young master?”

“It was not, ma’am. Pray forgive my inattention. I should have been listening.”

Rushing to close my ragged copy of the latest Teller’s Tales novel, I shoved it into my tunic as she nodded. “Indeed. Your letters await your return from the fair realm of Asland, and the sun approaches its apex. I believe Master Hughes had extra work for you today, yes?”

I glanced down at the paper that my book had been hiding, its perfect lines spaced to provide guidance toward the size and shape of someone’s idea of acceptable handwriting. I’d pushed the inkwell she lent me into a precarious position on the edge of my study table; the quill I left inside it threatened to upset the balance for a third time that week.

“He wants the cart loaded. He’s going to be out of town for the Scholasticate symposium, and his luggage and books and papers and such are going too. That means I’ll be in charge of this place from sunup to sundown for three days. I… hope I’m ready for this.”

The smile I’d come to love returned to her face in answer. “Rest assured that he would never have suggested such a thing if he felt you were not. The matter of your health and well-being aside, this estate is much like a firstborn child to him. It speaks well of your progress, young master. And I _will_ be here for several hours of each day to supervise. That will not change.”

Her words brought at least a suggestion of relief to my nervous heart. Eager to prove her faith in me well-placed, I picked up my quill and set to the task she’d assigned. Handwriting had not proven a particular struggle for me when it came to legibility, but the task of shaping everything into perfect, beautiful, even lines fit for a _gentleman_ wore on my nerves every time she suggested it — which was far too often for my liking.

“He seems happy to be going. I dunno what he finds exciting about listening to a bunch of jawing heads for fifty bells. I thought he liked reading more than people anyway.”

She chuckled as she returned to the polished wooden table she’d chosen as her makeshift teacher’s desk, and I paused in my scrawling just long enough to watch her jump ever so slightly beside it, giving her the height she needed to perch herself upon its edge. Seated, her feet kicked back and forth restlessly, just like the feet of a child my age.

“Those _jawing heads_ , as you have named them, are the finest minds of our generation, young master. That accounts for much of his willingness to attend. Were it any other company, you may rest assured that he would have sent his regrets with naught by way of a second thought. Soon, it will be you that he sends in his stead. Pray you do not make that mistake _then_.”

Though my quill did not stop its slow progression across the page, my attention was on the conversation, not my work. The last six months of adjusting to the life of a proper manservant had made much of me and more, but I still struggled to see myself as anything more than my mother’s youngest kitten. Me, standing as proxy for one of the most intelligent men in the world? Me, handling his household affairs as if I _belonged_ on the premises? It was only thanks to his kindness that I’d passed for the well-heeled lad that everyone else had taken me for.

_What if it all goes wrong? They’ll see what I really am. And Master Hughes will be disappointed in me. The only reason I’m here is because he thought I could handle it. But… what if I can’t? What if I trip, or burp, or fart, or… or call them jawing heads in the middle of a meeting… or…_

I looked down to see that I’d drawn indelicate scribbles across the page in front of me, irrespective of any line or guidance it provided. None of them could even charitably be called _letters_ by a man three flagons into a Saturday evening.

Forcing down the impulse to rip up the sheet in frustration took so much focus that I lost my tenuous grip on the rest of my emotions. My racing mind took the opportunity to resort to the tears that I knew Master Hughes detested. I never heard MIss Emi get up or cross the distance between us, but it didn’t take long for her to kneel at my feet, her hands reaching for mine.

“Forgive me, young master. Your heart and mind have not been in this room today, have they? Let us speak not as teacher and student, but as friends. What troubles you?”

I scrubbed at my wet cheeks with an elbow, embarrassed by such a childish display in front of the woman I most wanted to impress in the world — but the calm, caring patience in her voice gave me the courage I needed to speak my truth, such as it was.

“I… I’m just a cat. J-Just a _boy_. How am I supposed to take care of an entire _estate_? How am I supposed to be what he needs? He’s wrong. He… should have chosen someone else.”

The long strands of her hair moved back and forth as she shook her head. “I will grant you, his whims may be… discerning at times. And he has not been as free with his praise as perhaps he ought. But his eyes are not the only ones that have watched you grow from season to season. Will you also cast aspersions on _my_ judgement? Even _he_ does not take my word so lightly.”

When I didn’t answer her, she sighed and reached up to ruffle my hair. “Very well. Let us try another way of framing the problem. That hero of yours, the one with the clever mind and the brave heart… what do you think he would do if he found himself in your shoes?”

She was talking about the Teller’s Tales, of course. Focusing on that question was far easier than the one she’d asked before, and didn’t require me to ask what _aspersions_ were.

“He… wouldn’t be scared like I am. He’d think of a way to make it all happen, and then it _would_ happen. Maybe he would have to fight a lot first, or do a bunch of other stuff to get strong enough, but he never loses. He never… fails. Not like… me.”

We looked down at my ruined paper together.

“I see. But… I believe you have missed one important detail.” There was something strange in Miss Emi’s voice as she spoke, and the sound of it brought my full attention back up to her. She was smiling, but that too seemed off somehow; a little less radiant than it should have been. “Being a hero, young master, is far less about whether you _are_ or _are not_ afraid. It is about what you do in _spite_ of your fear. It is about the things that are more important than fear.”

_Like carrying on Mama’s name. Like throwing myself on Hughes’ mercy instead of letting Berke destroy what was left of me. I… never thought of it that way in the moment. All I knew was that I couldn’t afford to lose. And so… I didn’t. Maybe that’s the same thing?_

_Mama… Allaz… were you and the others afraid? Or was I… that important?_

I opened my mouth to ask her, but the strangeness in Miss Emi’s expression had faded. She rose to her feet, turning her back to me as she returned to her desk. “That will be all for today. Testing you further for now would not show us the true extent of your learning. Pray do not think you have succeeded in avoiding your letters, though. I will see to it that they wait for you. You may keep that page in front of you as a reminder.”

I scowled down at it, noting for only a moment that the formless scribbles seemed far too much like an accurate picture of the inside of my brain. I could do better. I _had_ to.

“Thank you, Miss Emi. Um… I’m glad you’re my teacher. And… my friend.”

Her smile returned at my words, but there was a slight pause before she spoke. “It is _I_ that should thank _you_ , young master. If there is anything that I may do to assist you over the next few days, do not hesitate to ask. Though… I have a request for you. Will you hear it?”

The part of me that would soon grow into a man held its breath — but I was yet enough of a child to miss the _possibility_ she so clearly had not intended to introduce. “Of course!”

She crossed her arms over her chest again. “You have… undoubtedly noticed the peculiar way that I speak when compared to others you have met. As your teacher, it would be improper to burden you with the details of my private life, but I believe you are intelligent enough to understand the significance of that detail on your own. WIll you hazard a guess for me?”

I paused, mulling it over. Outside of books that were written in archaic languages and scripts due to their age, an accented voice most often indicated that the speaker came from a foreign land, or a lesser-known subsection of a familiar one. And yet…

“Are you… from another _star_?!”

This time, her attempt to suppress her laughter failed, and I had to wait while she gathered herself to speak again. “Twelve forfend. Perhaps Master Hughes is right that you spend far too much time in your books. You are at _least_ on the right track, however. I am from a _distant corner_ of our little star. More than that… you do not need to know right now.”

Seeing the frown on my face, she continued. “There are good reasons for the secrets I keep, I can promise you that. Master Hughes is aware of the ones that are relevant to him, so you need not concern yourself with the idea that I wish you to lie. What I will ask of you is simple.”

She took a deep breath. “In the land of my birth, we have a different word for what you call a _teacher_. Only the word, not the meaning, is different. Learned man that he is, Master Hughes has used it with me in private since you first came here. I would extend you the same courtesy as the temporary head of this household, and as my friend… if you are willing to learn it.”

A private name to call Miss Emi? One that only Master Hughes himself knew and approved of? She could not have dissuaded me from learning with an axe, even if her reference to me as the _head of the household_ felt strange and formal in a way that made me nervous.

“I’ll learn anything you want me to learn, Miss Emi.”

Her smile was worth any price. Perhaps Master Hughes had felt the same.

“I thank you. It will be good to hear it from others, I think. It has been… too long. From now on, young master, I am no longer your teacher, Miss Emi. I am… Emiko- _sensei_. The first part is my true given name. The second is the word I described to you. They go together in the tongue of my people, though it is most common to use one’s family name instead.”

“So… like Sahra-sin-see?”

A brief grimace turned down the corners of her mouth, but she chuckled nonetheless. “That is the general idea, yes. We will… fine-tune the particulars of your _pronunciation_ in the days to come. For what it is worth, young master, your first attempt is closer than _his_ was.”

In the distance, the silent door to Master Hughes’ study swung open, thumping loudly against the wall. My eyes widened in sudden horror. Miss Emi — no, Emiko-sin-see — and I had been chatting for far longer than I expected. In the wake of her big reveal, I’d almost forgotten my upcoming duties! A quick glance at the chronometer delivered the bad news before Master Hughes’ thundering voice reached us, which gave me half a moment to brace myself.

“Damnation, boy! I’m scheduled to leave this house in _one bell_. The luggage is empty. The cart harness isn’t oiled — _or_ harnessing the back end of a chocobo. My _books_ are still in _my study_. Have I not made myself clear? If I _must_ ride ten hours to this damned Symposium in the bloody snow, then surely _you_ can make it _pleasant_ and _possible_ for me to do so!”

“Calm yourself, young master.” Emiko-sin-see’s soft voice was a sharp contrast to his, and to my suddenly shaking hands. “As ever, his temper waxes and wanes like a storm. You have the time you need, but little more. When he is settled, I will be sure to explain my role in your unexpected tardiness. For now, be swift. You will surpass his expectations, I know.”

“T-Thanks… Emiko-sin-see.”

I was out of the room and running so fast that I never saw her shake her head and sigh, muttering something about an instant undoing all the hard work she’d put in for the day.

It would take me another month of study to master the art of the single Doman word she’d taught me — and many more to unravel the rest of her countless mysteries, hidden literally behind the silken veil she wore, and figuratively beneath the shadows of her quiet heart.


	12. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth interview continues as Raphail grows into a young man at the Hughes estate. Though pleasing Master Hughes remains difficult, and the scars left by his traumatic past do not fade overnight, joy returns to his life one day at a time. As he forces himself to become the son that Master Hughes expects at great personal cost, Miss Emi’s secrets are unexpectedly revealed. In return for his growth, Master Hughes grants him permission to take his first steps as a proper gentleman.

“Everything will change. The only question is growing up or decaying.”  
—Nikki Giovanni

Lili sets down her restless quill with a smirk on her face.

“Let me guess where this is going. Doma is home to a host of dragon-men _and_ a tricky tongue, isn’t it? Garlemald got their grubby mitts on it and made a tidy mess of things ages ago, if the tales are true. I’ve heard rumors of refugees arriving from abroad, but I’ve seen few in the flesh. If she hoped to keep her horns hidden, then the value of the veil—”

“As always, you’re ahead of me, Lili.”

I grin as I stretch my back, stiff and aching from my seat on the floor. “I was a bit _unsurprised_ when something similar happened the first time I met Lady Yugiri. It was common enough to see Au Ra on our shores by then, but Lady Yugiri was overly cautious given our intimate involvement with the Ishgardians at the time. Who can blame her? It comes with the territory when you’ve spent your life living in the shadows in order to protect others. She might well have need of it still if Doma or Ala Mhigo decide to seek independence.”

“ _Another_ bloody battle hanging on the horizon. Not that it isn’t _needed_.”

Lili sighs, and I find myself agreeing with her. The weight of Ishgard’s troubles are still too heavy for comfort, though I am no longer central to the heart of them. That distinction is for Ser Aymeric now, not me — and I have seen the quiet scars left behind on his body and mind. He has come far since I first met him, and farther still since the beginning of his realm’s rebirth, but the path ahead of him remains long and arduous. In _that_ , at least, we are not so different.

Lili notices the shadows on my face and decides to change the subject back to Emiko- _sensei_. “So did she just call you in and confess the truth one day? Or did you accidentally-on-purpose pull her veil off for her? A catch of your claws could have gutted the game.”

A rueful smile crosses my face, and I shrug at Lili. “That might have been easier than what happened in the end. I think she planned to tell me herself, but she was waiting for something. Maybe she hoped I would inherit Master Hughes’ love for Doma first. Maybe she didn’t think I was ready to hear it yet. I was still half her age, and half in love with her. She had to know.”

“You do seem foolish enough to fall for every fair face in Eorzea, even now. I doubt it was different when you were younger.” Lili picks up her quill again, tapping the feathered end against her cheek in thought. “Speaking of such… that fancy new fragrance you’re steeped in suits you. Most mornings, you show up smelling like some lady’s pretty perfume. Pretending to pose as a _genuine_ gentleman would work better with your buttons _closed_ , of course.”

I freeze midway through my latest round of scrubbing at my coat and end up elbow-deep in the black water filling my bucket. Lili’s nose for detail has gotten _far_ too close for comfort. I have grown so accustomed to the particular hot-tea-and-firewood scent of Aymeric’s estate by now that it has ceased to enter my mind as a possible vector for discovery — or perhaps I am simply too tired to have realized it today. I blurt out the first thing I can think of by way of excuse.

“Um… thanks. I picked it up while I was in Ishgard, but I’ve never had the opportunity to wear it until now. You know what they say about making every day a special occasion if you want to maintain a proper _image_. Today… felt like the right day. But anyroad… we were talking about Emiko- _sensei_ , weren’t we? And how I managed to find out what was beneath her veil?”

Lili nods, but there is something in her movements and expression that leave me on edge. It feels like the sort of silent tell that used to tip me off when one of my magic acts went awry or missed its mark. If I’m lucky, it’s my own exhaustion playing tricks on my brain. Unless she somehow _personally_ knows Aymeric, the odds of her putting together more than my recent proximity to Ishgard are not high. They can’t be. And _she_ can’t. It’s impossible.

“We were. Carry on, then. I smell a story… and something else, too.”

Fearing that the _something else_ she smells is _a rat_ , I launch back into my tale with gusto, eager to change the subject away from anything having to do with the fair city of Ishgard.

* * *

Time passed swiftly in the Hughes estate for a boy with tens of minor tasks to perform within any given bell. As the months turned to years, my constant fear of failure and rejection bolstered the rate of my progress, though it did little to calm my ever-racing mind. True to his initial promise at my adoption, Master Hughes spent most of our time together giving me orders from the privacy and comfort of his study — though there were many nights when he joined me at the dinner table for a meal, and days when he walked by my side to the bookstore and back.

The day eventually came when he ordered me to accompany him on one of his various outings — a private meeting brought about by the legal sturm and drang surrounding the unpaid taxes on some Lominsan envoy’s missing, probably stolen, goods. Using the voidsent’s own script that Emiko- _sensei_ had drilled into me, I performed the sacred office of legal recorder in absolute silence without a single yawn; a feat I found to be as heroic as anything in the Teller’s Tales.

My first view of Limsa Lominsa was overwhelming, to say the least. The boisterous locals and chaotic, rushed visitors choked the docks and streets alike with more bodies than I’d ever seen before in one place. Brightly-clothed merchants plying their wares flooded the few spaces that were left. If the sights and sounds weren’t enough to tax me, the smell of the salty, fish-soaked air mixed with the odor of stale grog and pirate sweat left me almost in tears. I vowed to never return within the first bell of setting foot in Llymlaen’s so-called precious domain.

Master Hughes, of course, was unimpressed with my failure to _adapt_ , though he’d had decades to school his own face and senses prior to the moment of my birth. The stern but quiet lecture that followed taught me much of the personal philosophy he would adhere to for the rest of my time in his care, though I wondered what Emiko- _sensei_ would think of it as he spoke.

_Raphail. Being young is no excuse for this nonsense. This world is too big for such displays every time you round a corner and bump into the unfamiliar. You are not a boy anymore; you are now half a man, and growing every day into the shoes I’ve handed you. I implore you to put that imagination of yours to work pretending that you are up to this challenge. Logic and reason are the tools by which a man governs his affairs, and you are half responsible for mine now as well as your own. You know this, don’t you? Pray leave your sensitivities at the door._

He never meant to be cruel. It was simply _the way of things_ , as best he knew them. I understood it on some level even then, though his words left me feeling emptier than I had since my arrival at the Bending Birch. Emiko- _sensei_ had been so patient with my outbursts, guiding me toward the inner stability that I lacked — but relying on her measured pace toward that goal would keep me forever at odds with the man responsible for my very life. To be the man — and the hero — that I wanted to be, I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands.

For the remaining three nights that we spent in Limsa Lominsa, I dedicated myself to observing the crowds from up close and underfoot, doing my level best to fit into the spaces that others left behind. I know not what Master Hughes thought I intended, but his approving nods were all the reward I needed to persevere. The headaches, the panic attacks, and the urgent needs to vomit in quiet back alleys were all signs that I had not yet earned the right to call myself his son.

Only during our journey home did he mention that he’d brought along a secret flask of whiskey to help settle his _own_ nerves. I watched him drink deep from it, wrinkling my nose in disgust at the smell that wafted from the spout. Someday, I would be old enough to know what he meant.

It took five more visits before I stepped onto the docks for the first time by myself, tasked with taking the minutes for a lengthy economic function to which he did not plan to contribute any particular words of wisdom. By then, a month or two had passed since my eleventh summer, and my desperate attempts to immerse myself in the heart of Lominsan culture had borne fruit. The inn room he’d reserved in advance of my arrival served as a safe haven when all else failed, but the city’s dubious charms had become little more than an expected norm.

In honor of my newfound _peace of mind_ , Master Hughes graced me with a gift: a free day of vacation at the end of the trip — and all subsequent ones. I promptly dedicated them all to the fine art of fishing. Though I’d given up much of my childhood prowess at the feet of my mother and siblings in obeisance to Berke’s many demands, Mama’s fishing journal that I’d rescued from home remained my only possession from my life as a kitten. The chances to reconnect with the shadows of my distant past, if momentary, meant more to me than he would ever know.

It was a little more than six months after that, as I returned home from another meeting filled with jawing— er, _importan_ t heads of state, when I found out what Emiko- _sensei_ looked like under her veil. It left more of an impression than any of the new fish I’d caught.

I knew something was amiss when the polished wooden door to Hughes’ estate hung ever so slightly ajar in greeting. While he and Emiko- _sensei_ never failed to greet my inevitable returns, each in their own fashion, such a casual display of welcome seemed excessive and unfamiliar to my eyes. Still, I had no cause to assume the worst. I’d seen all too clearly what Master Hughes was capable of when roused to anger. Even Berke had quailed beneath his might. If an intruder had gotten desperate or handsy, I had every faith that they would meet their match.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The heavy thump that accompanied the motion should have alerted everyone inside to my presence — and yet only an eerie hush continued to fill the lobby around me. That, plus the sight of the still-draped windows, gave me pause, and I reached for the handle of the simple dagger that Hughes had insisted I carry on my journeys to Limsa Lominsa in case of emergency. Pirates, after all, couldn’t be trusted.

In the end, it was Emiko- _sensei’_ s voice that split the silence, though I barely recognized it. The usual cadence of her words flowed at the speed of the Lominsan tide, but her speech was too slow; too uncertain. Like Allaz’s had been. Before he—

“R-Raphail? Thank… the Twelve.”

She’d called me by my _name_. That was, she’d told me once, a breach of etiquette punishable by immediate termination of her duties at the estate in her homeland, or worse.

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

“Miss Emi? Where are you?”

The name she’d given me in private was not for shouting, so I used a different one as she’d bade me months earlier. Emiko- _sensei_ was for the quiet spaces we shared; Miss Emi was for the eyes of the world. I understood, of course. Raph’ir Sahra was for the quiet spaces, too.

“Up… upstairs, young master. Master Hughes… bring him to me. Please.”

Even at her weak volume, my ears were good enough that I knew it for the lie it was — but she’d never asked for Master Hughes before. She was the only person in the world that could walk into his study unannounced, myself included, without severe repercussions. If she couldn’t manage to find him herself, then something terrible had happened, either to him… or to her.

I never looked back as I raced upstairs and pounded my fist on his closed door.

After what felt like twenty bells, I heard an exasperated sigh, followed by the irritated, incautious scrape of a heavy chair backwards away from a desk. Stomping feet approached me, and I didn’t flinch when he snatched open the door in front of me, a normal scowl on his normal face.

“Hells take you, what _is_ it, boy? I’m pleased to see you’ve returned, but I’m very busy—”

“Emiko- _sensei_. I think… I think she’s hurt. Like… like my brother was. Bad.”

It didn’t occur to me until bells afterward that the old Raphail of mere months ago would have been in tears as he said it. Not that I didn’t want to be. But…

 _Being a hero, young master, is far less about whether you_ are _or_ are not _afraid. It is about what you do in_ spite _of your fear. It is about the things that are more important than fear._

Master Hughes blinked at me behind his glasses for a heartbeat or two, his prior glare fading into an unreadable, emotionless mask. Only then did he nod, pressing me out into the hall and closing his door behind him. He said nothing as we made our way back to the lobby where I’d last heard her. Once we arrived, it was his voice that called out for her, and not in a tongue I’d heard before. For all I knew, he might have been speaking the language of the dragons.

It took only a moment for her to respond in kind, and somewhere in their brief exchange, Master Hughes heard what he needed to hear. I followed his urgent lead through the lower hallways until we arrived at the door to the comfortable, familiar kitchen and dining hall that I’d used each night to hone the cooking skills I’d acquired at the Birch. He paused with his hand on the door, and for a brief moment, I feared he might be suffering an illness of his own; I’d never seen him show such hesitation before! But it was gone in the span of time it took me to breathe.

We entered the room to find a scene of utter chaos. The long dining table and chairs that I polished once a week were askew, their wood chipped in multiple places. Two of the chairs were overturned. A small, circular blade with sharp points sticking out of it at all angles was still embedded in the table’s surface, leaving tiny specks of wood dust in its wake. Behind it, a red stain pooled across the fringed carpet, surrounding a dark, motionless, roughly human shape in a grey uniform; a curved blade with an intricate, glowing pattern had fallen by its side.

I was so busy looking at the blade — and trying _not_ to look at the shape — that I failed to notice Emiko- _sensei_ herself at first. She leaned weakly against the back wall of the dining area, her beautiful robes slashed and torn in multiple places. Her legs were shaking, as if supporting her meager body weight had suddenly become too much for them to handle. Her face was turned toward the wall, but it was clear that her veil had been torn from her head; looking around, I could see that someone had thrown it into the empty fireplace for future consumption.

All I could make out in detail were the countless wounds that bled through the cloth that still covered her, and the rapidly-spreading red stain on the wall behind her.

“He… he should… not see… Caspar. He is… only a child. I… never thought they would find me here. Should have… outside…” 

The sound of Master Hughes’ voice, always gruff and deep, took on a commanding, headstrong tone that I’d never heard from him before. Years later, he would explain the concept of a bedside manner; the need to establish control in the presence of fear.

“ _Enough_ , Emiko- _san_. I will need help, and you know it as well as I do. It’s past time I started training him in first aid techniques anyway. All gentlemen should be prepared for emergencies at the very least. Pray tell me your _feminine pride_ is not at stake?”

Against all odds, she chuckled, though it sounded as if it cost her to do so.

“Idiot. My pride is… the least of it. Can’t you see… the blood?”

The word on her lips stole the breath from my lungs. It would have been folly to assume the stains across the room were anything _but_ blood, of course, but she had no business speaking of it. She was so kind, and so beautiful, and, and—

“Raphail. Emiko- _sensei_ is injured, in case you have somehow failed to notice. How this incident came about is a question for _later_. For now, I will give you a choice.” Master Hughes’ sharp eyes turned toward me, regarding me as he might have a fellow Symposium attendee. “You may stay and aid me in her care, knowing that you _must_ keep control of yourself. Failure to do so may well cause further harm to her, and I trust you understand the gravity of what you are seeing. Or… you may take my linkpearl and call for the services of a professional.”

Emiko- _sensei_ ’s body shuddered, and I could see her start to summon the energy to object, but Master Hughes silenced her with a loud clear of his throat. “I know _well_ what I am asking, Emiko- _san_. Pray trust me as I have trusted you. And… trust my boy, too.”

_My boy._

It was the first, and the last, time that he ever called me such. On top of that, I felt as if his so-called _choice_ was no choice at all. If he believed that he wasn’t up to the task of healing her wounds on his own, he would have called for a physician himself instead of asking me. That meant he was testing my resolve in a new, unexpected, and terrifying way — just as he always had. And if facing down Limsa Lominsa had shown me anything, it was the need for bravery.

_That hero of yours, the one with the clever mind and the brave heart… what do you think he would do if he found himself in your shoes?_

“I’ll throw up later, sir. Just tell me what to do.”

Emiko- _sensei_ ’s weak laugh fell short of its mark as Master Hughes stepped forward, oblivious to the stains that quickly marred his clothing and boots for the first time since I’d met him. She slumped forward into his arms, her face still turned toward him, looking more like a tattered doll than a woman grown. His first order was to remove the strange blade at the center of the table, which proved to be a task for stronger and larger hands than mine; it took all my strength to pull it free from the wood and toss it onto the floor, out of sight and out of mind.

Once the surface was clear, he laid Emiko- _sensei_ on the long table, her head closest to my position. Only then did I catch my first full glimpse of what she’d been hiding; a porcelain complexion and beautiful, dark eyes, framed with ivory scales like those of a lizard or snake. A pair of matching horns protruded from the sides of her head, making her look far tougher than she had with her veil on. For a moment, she looked like an exotic version of the fierce woman that Mama had been before she’d settled down to raise us by herself.

Her eyes opened to find me staring at her, and her usual smile lit up her face despite the pain she so clearly was in. “Young master… do not… fear. I am… still your… Miss Emi. Still your teacher. Still… your friend. Naught… has changed for me. I pray… it will not for you.”

One of her hands reached for mine, and I took it without a second thought. Though her true appearance was unfamiliar, and I had thousands of impertinent questions stacking up for her in the back of my mind, her smile and her kindness were the two things I had always loved best about her, and neither had changed for me. I shook my head.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. Master Hughes and I will take good care of you, so rest. Okay? And… um… I’m sorry if this hurts. I’ll… do my best.”

“I know… you will.”

We were so focused on our words that neither of us heard Master Hughes approach. Unfazed by the sight of her bare face, he gave her no warning at all before holding a rag soaked in some kind of herbal solution up to her nose and mouth. When she stopped moving, it was all I could do not to scream — but he was prepared, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t misunderstand, boy. I put her to sleep so that we can work undisturbed. Like as not she’d have lost consciousness from the pain of healing her injuries otherwise. The minds of mortal men and women do not take well to such processes, though their bodies will thank us later. Be cautious of this should you find yourself treating future patients.”

“Yes, sir.”

I watched him pull out the fancy book he carried at his side and flip it open to a well-worn, dog-eared page. The cover was different this time, and the symbols inside even more so. His free hand reached up to shift his glasses into perfect position astride his nose, leaving a bloody handprint on the bridge. I might have pointed it out, but his attention was fully focused on Emiko- _sensei_ in front of him, and distracting him seemed unwise.

“This will take awhile. Do you understand? I’ll need to concentrate, with _no interruptions_. I expect you to stay by her side. I expect you to hold her hand until I am finished. And I expect you to keep your eyes open. The man that did this to her is… gone, but there may be more to follow. If there is _any_ sign of a disturbance, _then_ and only _then_ will you interrupt me at once. If they did this to her, then they will think naught of such a small boy — or a young man.”

“I… I’ll stop them, sir. If they come back for more, I’ll—”

I thought he might approve of my determination, but the look on his face could have bored a hole through solid diamond, and I shut my mouth as quickly as I’d opened it.

“You will do _no such thing_. I have _need_ of you, Raphail, and I _will not_ see your potential wasted on something like this. You fared poorly against Berke, as you no doubt recall. If you lacked the necessary killing intent then, I am certain you do not have it now. _I_ will handle any additional interruptions. This is not a story for children. This is real life at its worst.”

I couldn’t argue with him, though some small, stubborn part of me yet wanted to. Killing… intent? Was that why I’d shaken so hard that I’d dropped my weapon at the time?

“Yes… sir.”

_I… don’t want to kill anyone, not really. I’ve seen too much death already. Mama… Allaz… everyone. Isn’t there a way to stop the bad guys without hurting them so much? Can’t we just fight until someone gives up or admits defeat? That’s how it happens in the Teller’s Tales._

It was several bells later, as Master Hughes continued to knit Emiko- _sensei_ ’s wounds back together with expert magical aplomb, when it occurred to me that she, herself, had killed a man.

It was a realization that haunted me far more than the reveal of her horns.

* * *

My ears attune to a strange, rhythmic creaking in the room around me as I pause to gather myself. The Lalafell in front of me is sitting on the edge of her seat, her tiny feet making repeated contact with the front-facing panel of her desk. Her eyes are fixated on me, though her quill remains poised at attention; she is eating up every word I’m saying. I might have guessed this story would appeal to her. Though less _dramatic_ than many of my other tales, this one is more accessible by the masses; more humanizing. It makes sense.

“Okay, okay, out with it. What happened to her? Pray tell me you have had at least _one_ happy ending in your life?”

I chuckle as I stand up from the floor, my soaking-wet — and, for a mercy, _red_ — jacket in hand. The time it has taken to tell the tale has been well spent.

“Impatient, aren’t you? I thought you wanted a _story_.”

She makes a face at me, and I give her a melodramatic sigh as I wring the last of the water out of my coat. “Fine. You win. As it happens, Master Hughes was every bit as talented as I’d guessed. It took us a few bells, but Emiko- _sensei_ was far too stubborn to accept her wounds as fatal, even if maybe they should have been. When it was over, he left me at her bedside on call and then went back upstairs to his study. I didn’t see him again until the next dawn.”

Lili shakes her head. “Even after everything, he hurried back to _business_?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” I busy myself with hanging up my coat to dry on a rack near the sun-dappled windows of the room. “He never said it, but wielding power of that magnitude with enough precision to heal injuries like hers… it can be exhausting. Once I started my own course of study at the scholars’ guild years later, I understood. I think… he must have truly loved her, as inappropriate as that sounds. If not for that, she wouldn’t have survived the experience.”

“B-But she was barely a _babe_ compared to him! And she was your teacher, too! Such a relationship would surely have been shameful—”

“Yeah. Most people would think that. Which is why he spent his later years in his study, making sure that she — and I — would never guess at the truth.” I shrug at Lili, whose expression resembles a morbol with its mouth wide open. “As you say, she _was_ my governess. He was too much of a businessman to have jeopardized that partnership. And he wasn't the type to devote himself to anything but the written word. If she’d been born twenty summers earlier, maybe the whole thing would have worked out. That’s just my guess, anyway. Make of it what you will.”

Lili shifts in her seat, but her mind has already focused on something else that I’ve said, and I can see her kicking feet start to steady themselves in response. “Anyway, that aside… back up a bell. The man that tried to murder her. Purchased by that bastard at the Birch, perhaps?”

I chuckle, though we both know that it isn’t my usual, boisterous laugh; it doesn’t even need to be said. “You guessed at the fact that she was Doman with nary a word from _me_. Does it surprise you that Garlemald would send agents after a refugee that made it out _alive_ enough to tell the sadistic tale of their occupation? That gray uniform didn’t mean much to me at the time, but… well, we’ve all seen too many of them by now to count.”

_I still don’t enjoy killing what’s inside, though. Not even after everything they’ve done. Perhaps I haven’t changed as much as I thought from the boy that I used to be._

Lili nods to herself. “Fair. I figured that was the way of it. But why work so hard to harry one random refugee? A teacher couldn’t have caused much mayhem overseas.”

“Oh, I assure you, she could. And she did.”

I smile as I say it, turning back to face Lili. “She kept the Doman language alive by teaching it to an old man — _and_ a few words to a small boy. She kept the history of Doma alive by using her wealth of knowledge to pose as a tutor. As it happens, her _actual_ profession involved the art of _ninjutsu_ back in her homeland. Master Hughes paid her well for her time and presence, but he also afforded her the chance to retain her name and identity in a foreign land. That privilege, I imagine, didn’t sit well with the Garleans. They would sooner have seen it all erased.”

I can feel my enthusiasm getting the better of me as I speak, and the surprise on Lili’s face confirms that I’ve gotten carried away with the tale. Again, I remind myself that in order to tell my own tale, I must tell the tales of those that came before me. It is only _right_.

“There was more to her, too, though she never told me herself. The one stipulation Master Hughes had for her was that she couldn’t put any more _ideas_ into my head than were already there. After he passed away, I found the real truth in his study — personal letters from her elder brother back in Doma, asking for Master Hughes’ aid and protection. They’d met at a Hingan izakaya by chance during one of Master Hughes’ visits. The last letter he sent was regarding Emiko-sensei’s arrival in Eorzea, a few months before my adoption.”

Lili nods along with my story. “Who would be better than a bourgeois senior to shepherd a wayward sister to safety? Though… it sounds as if that was the lad’s final farewell.”

“As far as I know, it was.” I shrug my shoulders. “Unless I miss my guess, his diction suggested military service of some kind. Perhaps he was a samurai of some renown, or maybe even part of the royal guard. It would explain her words about heroes at least, plus the Garlean attention. After my studies ended, she went back to Doma in search of him, but it was the last time we spoke. Master Hughes was fit to be tied when he found out. For her sake, I hope she found more than a corpse waiting for her. I… hope she didn’t become one herself.”

I stop to take a deep breath.

“In any case, Master Hughes’ gil _should_ have protected her in Eorzea, or so he thought. I don’t think he ever made his peace with the error. The whole thing ended up teaching _him_ a lesson. It wasn’t enough to turn him into a model father figure, mind you, but he kept his eyes a little more open to the two of us after that. He made it downstairs for every meal, though he grumbled about it from time to time. He took more walks around the house, pretending he wasn’t looking for trouble. It was nice to know he cared, even if I’d accepted things being otherwise.”

Knowing all too well what comes next, my gaze finds its way to the floor.

“And… it changed the way he looked at me. From that day forward, I ceased to be the helpless boy he’d fished out of the Bending Birch’s trash heap. If I was mature enough to serve as his assistant in medicine _and_ stand in for him at meetings, then I was mature enough for other things — the arts of a _gentleman_ , or so he called them. Since my reading, writing, and numbers were passable enough to reduce Emiko- _sensei_ ’s focus on them, that left time for… the rest.”

 _And it’s a damn good thing he taught me, too. Otherwise, I’d have never survived that private dinner with Aymeric… or anything else since, for that matter. I almost didn’t_ anyway _._

A wave of tiredness washes over me in response to my errant thought, and I find myself uncomfortably aware of my own limitations. Telling tall tales — even if they are _true_ — will not serve to keep me awake for much longer. There is no more time to wait for my coat to dry. I have to find a way to get some sleep, even if it means postponing the story for now.

I make my way over to the bed in the corner of the room, stripping off the outer cover and prying up the corners of the tightly tucked sheet. With a little ingenuity, I’m convinced I can fashion a functional — if crude — shirt capable of getting me home without too much _drama_. I am busy rehearsing my excuses for Lili in the back of my mind when I hear her speak behind me.

“Somnalune… _stop_. You don’t _seriously_ mean to suggest that you… and _Ser Aymeric_ …?! How long have you been holding out on me? When in the world did I miss this?!”

It takes me far too long to realize that I’ve spoken my thoughts _out loud_ , like a foolish kitten midway through a failed attempt to pawn off an already-licked Miq’abob.

_Shite._

Stricken with horror, I turn back to see that Lili is once again agog at the sight of me — or perhaps, at the sight of the single juiciest morsel in the entire history of Eorzean reporting, squarely affixed to the center of my face. For a mercy, she is beet red and attempting to compose her indignant squawks into further words; the ball is yet in my court.

“Um… perhaps you… misheard me. I… um… _Emmerie_ is someone I met on one of my latest visits to Ishgard, you see, and she gets mistaken for Ser Aymeric all the time, and…”

I know it’s a _miserable_ excuse, and poorly delivered. The garbage leaving my mouth is both an insult to Lili’s intelligence and my own deft hand at misdirection. And yet, I am too tired to offer better; the truth of my words cannot be swept under any number of rugs.

I am, in the strictest sense, _doomed_.

I throw myself on my knees in front of Lili’s desk, my head bent to the floor.

“Sod it. We both know you heard me _fine_. And I’m too damned tired to keep pretending. I should have begged off. I should have gone home. I should have… ugh, never _mind_ what I should have done! Lili… he swore me to secrecy. If this gets out, everything we’ve worked for… all the progress we’ve made in bringing Ishgard into the Eorzean Alliance… it’s all going to be some _nightmare_ in the tabloids. Maybe I deserve it, but… not him. Not his people. They’ve been through too much. I’ll do anything you ask. Anything at all.”

The sound of her voice drifts down from somewhere above me, but I refuse to look up.

“ _Anything_? A week’s worth of wondrous gifts, gathered from far-flung worlds? A month’s mandatory maid service? Flight fees for the length of my life? Vast _vacations_ beneath summer skies, sipping sodas and singing songs? Wait, wait — perhaps I don’t have to _pick_!”

I grit my teeth. “You know my means better than anyone at this point. Drain me if you must. I said _anything_ , and Twelve as my witness, I _meant_ it.”

She mumbles to herself, thinking over her options, and I find my eyelids closing faster in the uncertain lull. I feel sick to my stomach, and my heart hammers in my ears. Though I have come to trust and care for Lili over the many months of our collaboration, I know that turning her back on such an opportunity would be foolish at best. Asking for her silence is unthinkable.

Unlike me, she isn’t some Warrior of Light. She’s a hard-working woman with a life, a job, and dreams of her own. If there is any consolation, it’s knowing that my downfall will elevate her.

I turn my attention back to her mumbling, but the room is too warm; too quiet. By the time I brave the encroaching darkness around me to look up at where her face should be, there is nothing at all but the emptiness of the sleep that my body demands.

* * *

I wake several bells later in the same inn room, still shirtless and collapsed in an undignified heap on the floor. The sky outside the windows is black and filled with stars. The fireplace burns low, casting a flickering light across the walls. The piles of books that once adorned Lili’s desk are gone, as is Lili herself; my coat has been draped over me like a blanket, aiding in the drying process beside the fire. A pillow from the bed I stripped has been shoved under my head.

A cursory glance reveals that all of my belongings are still in place, though someone has removed my glasses and left them perched on top of Lili’s desk. In my confused, half-awake state, the realization strikes me as infinitely _funny_. It only made _sense_ for her to take my wallet and everything of value when she left. Perhaps the scoop had simply been too urgent for such mundane matters; the offices of the Mythril Eye no doubt had closing hours.

As I sit up, my coat falls to the floor around me, and the motion settles my flailing mind.

_You’re a fool, Sahra. How hard do you think she must’ve worked to pull that coat down without ripping it? And then she put it on top of you, even though you were half naked and on your knees. She told you never to do that again, didn’t she? You aren’t the best listener, sometimes. Or ever, really. You might have learned better from Emiko-sensei, once upon a time._

I stagger to my feet, using the edge of Lili’s desk for support. Only then do I notice the folded notebook page tucked under my glasses. I grab for both at the same time.

_Silly Somnalune. Did you really think I’d run to the presses and pour out your secret to all and sundry? Shame on you. Next time, tell me if you need a reason to go off the record. You have righted much in this realm. It is not mine to manhandle. The room is rented through tomorrow, so rest up. You can return the favor forthwith. And your secret is safe with me. —L. L._

_P. S. Give your esteemed Elezen my regards. I recall writing a word or three for his acceptance into the Alliance, albeit under an assumed name. Like you, he loathed the suggestion that I might sully the facts with tall tales. His missives always carried the aroma I mentioned. Take more care next time. If I can suss out the sums, then so can someone else._

My eyes, still too tired to absorb each word in full, well up and spill over in the darkness as the general gist of her point reaches me. It is only what I’ve come to expect from her; only what I should have known from the very beginning. And yet, there are miles to go before I dare to trust in the impossible good fortune that has led me to all the kindness still left in Eorzea.

Someday, it will run out. Someday, I’ll wake up to find that I’m dreaming.

But before that day comes, I will have to _sleep_.

And so I do.


	13. That Which Men Are Made Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fifth interview session takes a turn for the unusual as Lili is called away on other business for the Mythril Eye. In the meantime, Raphail visits his father’s old estate for a scheduled check-in, committing to tell more of his story — both past and present — through letters instead. The estate, however, holds far more than memories: the ghost of a past life that has never let go still remains.

“I am not a Caspar Milquetoast, but most of the time, I'm mild. I can afford to be because I don't have the fears that most men have about masculinity or macho-ness.”  
—Charles Bronson

“Everything is in order, sir. I paid the taxes last week, per your request. The coffers are _predictably_ emptier after such an affair, but naught is amiss. The sale of your adventuring trinkets should be enough to balance the books with time. Zevah sleeps well enough, give or take the odd evening out. When she asks for you, I find things to occupy her hands and mind. She is quite the green thumb, as it happens. So pray direct your endless _concerns_ to Eorzea.”

Seated in Master Hughes’ old armchair, I glance down at the small tea table in front of me with a sigh, letting my chin fall into my open palm. The tall, impeccably-dressed Miqo’te Keeper sitting across from me somehow anticipates the motion before I make it; he snatches up my half-filled and forgotten teacup, rescuing the dish before my elbow makes contact with the saucer’s edge.

Half a breath later, the saucer is as still as if I never touched it at all; every drop of tea remains inside the cup instead of dousing my jacket _or_ his crisply-tailored waistcoat and tie.

“Um. Thanks, Malkin. I mean it, you know? I’d be even more of a mess without you.”

For the first time since my late-night arrival on the grounds of my master’s old estate, he smiles. In the morning light, the sun-dappled parlor brings out a subtle glow in his complexion to match. He is of age now to have children equal to my summers or older; the silver streaks in his long, graying hair remind me of that every time I see him. And yet, Zee and I remain the only _children_ in his care. He deserves twice what I pay him, but I know he won’t take it.

He puts the cup back down — a few ilms _away_ from my errant arm. The slow, deliberate way he does it is meant to ensure that I notice the intent without undue insult. As ever, he is the most _professional_ man I have ever known; a sharp contrast to my own distracted bumbling. If Master Hughes had met _him_ , I would never have found myself the heir to a fortune in the first place.

“You would, at that. Let us be thankful that I am thus gainfully employed. Say what you will, sir, but mayhap at least _one_ of the many decisions that keep you up at night was wise.”

I shake my head as I sit back up and remove my offending elbow from the table that he has worked so hard to set for me. The teacup is my favorite from my days as a younger man, decorated with the face of an Eorzean map; Master Hughes once used it to help teach me about the names and locations of the world around me. The saucer beneath shows a diagram of the Eorzean elements, and its relevance to my daily life as a Warrior of LIght has not been lost on me since the first day that I chose to embrace my unexpected fate.

The lace handkerchief separating the two, and the spotless white linen tablecloth beneath, are simply the expected window dressing included by a man trained to impress guests — and the master to whom he is sworn. It will take me more than the fifteen summers I’ve known him to wear that crown without feeling like the impostor I am; the only reason I wear it now is steeped in a confusing tangle of should-have-beens that I’ve never been able to leave behind.

And still, I am grateful to have a place to belong, whether it is truly _mine_ or not.

I open my mouth to argue, but he swiftly interjects with a change of subject; what would seem like an _interruption_ from anyone else feels too purposeful and planned to count as such, even if it is. “Your tea, sir. It begs for your attention. Or shall I warm it up for you a second time?”

“It’s fine.” I reach down and grab the cup through its delicate handle with the proper care that I learned from Master Hughes’ many lessons, raising it to my lips. In one smooth motion, I pour the remaining lukewarm tea down my throat and swallow. I have business to attend to, and further dalliance in the realm of persuasive theory will only delay it further. With Lili’s attention demanded elsewhere for a more ostentatious story today, I have promised to replace her usual interview time with a written account of my next boyhood adventure.

Here, steeped in the sights, scents, and sounds of my childhood, I can leave my own legend behind for a few rare moments and remember what it was like to be younger and more foolish than I am now. As luck would have it, the opportunity aligns well with my usual monthly check-in with Malkin — born Mhalk’a, though he refuses to allow me to call him such, even as close as we are. Under his watchful eye, I know that my father’s estate thrives both in my presence and without. Only the fact that it _must_ still clings to my shoulders, weighing on me.

 _He’s right. Hiring Malkin to run this place was a good choice. But it’s_ my _responsibility, not something to foist off on someone more convenient. Master Hughes would never forgive me for my disrespect. Maybe if everything had happened in a different order during the Calamity, I’d have had second thoughts… but who could have predicted that? Whatever I used to be, I’m a Warrior of Light now. Playing house with the well-heeled is for people like Aymeric, not me. I should have known better than to think fate would praise my whims._

The comfortable silence between Malkin and I grows as I lose myself in thought; it is a habit that he has long since learned to suffer with the dignity befitting his station as the household manservant. Before long, however, I notice the subtle twitch of a single ear, and the slight tension in the white-gloved fingers that he has rested atop the tea table’s draped surface.

“I believe Zevah has awoken for the morning, sir. I can hear her moving about upstairs. I do not need to remind you that if she sees you—”

I nod, closing my eyes as I set my teacup back into its saucer.

“I should spend some time with her soon. It’s been too long. But I’m doing an interview for the Mythril Eye right now, and I thought I’d use the study to fill out the paperwork they asked for. It’ll be a few bells, so I know she’ll get bored watching me, and… I haven’t forgotten the last time I had to tell her I couldn’t play. It’s better that she doesn’t know I’m here. I’ll lock the door.”

Malkin’s grim smile is all the agreement he needs to convey as he hands me the key. “Very good, sir. She is much more stable than she used to be, but she still struggles with strong doses of _reality_. Your presence is still good for her in the moment, though. Pray do not forget that.”

_As if I ever could. She deserves to smile forever, after everything she’s been through. But I can’t give her what she wants anymore. She’s like a child. A child that still remembers how to use knives like she once did. A child that still remembers the things we shared between the sheets when she was whole. Perhaps there are still times when she’s lucid enough to understand, but they don’t last for long. Malkin’s only looking at the bright side._

Even now, ten long summers after the seventh umbral Calamity, I wonder if fate might have been kinder if it had claimed her life along with Master Hughes’. In the absence of that kindness, however, what kindness Malkin and I can provide must serve instead.

_Unlike the Teller’s Tales, some stories don’t have happy endings. All the love in the world can’t mend what’s broken sometimes, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. The most I can do for her is make sure she’s cared for, and there’s nobody better than Malkin for that._

The sound of a door opening somewhere on the upper floor of the estate brings Malkin to his feet, and I follow in rapid succession. Neither of us need spoken words after so many years; he makes his way to the stairwell to intercept her entrance as I retreat to the opposite hallway. It is possible to forge a path to the study by a less direct method, as I well know from my days as a child in my father’s house. That knowledge will save three lives today, including my own.

I can hear her voice behind me, though, as I leave; still as soft and seductive as ever, laced with a strange unevenness that sets the hair on the back of my neck upright. Her heart and body may yet remain as I once knew them, but the same can’t be said of the rest.

“Malkin. I can _smell_ him. My… _Raph’ir_. You are wearing his _clothes_ , aren’t you? Will you hold me, _just_ a little? _Please_? I won’t bite you. I’m… still a _good_ girl. See?”

_He’ll give her a hug, at least. As long as she doesn’t find out I’m hiding, she should settle for that. She only breaks when she gets reminded that she’s not who she used to be, and that she can’t have me anymore. I’m sorry, Malkin. I should have been faster._

Every muscle in my body tenses until I’m safely clear of the hallway. I lock and bar the study door behind me and sit down at the familiar polished-mahogany desk that once belonged to my father, wiping away the thin layer of sweat dripping from my pores with the sleeve of my jacket.

With my books, at least, I know I will find the words I seek — even if they will never explain the depth and distance of Zee’s fall, or what the world has torn from her beautiful hands.

* * *

“S-Sir, I can explain. I didn’t oversleep, I _promise_! Emiko- _sensei_ ’s running late. And she didn’t give me new material to work on at my last lesson. We were supposed to start a new chapter on the formal written essay today, but—!”

Master Hughes shook his head at my flood of defensive protests as he entered her otherwise empty classroom with his customary _presence_ on full display — without knocking, of course. He left the door wide open behind him, too; an error that would have cost me five gil’s worth of my personal allowance, if I’d made it myself. But I _hadn’t_.

“Settle down, boy. I _know_. I didn’t expect to find you in here scribbling sums on the ceiling. I _came_ to solve your predicament in a _different_ manner, so to speak.”

I took a deep breath as he graced me with one of his rare smiles, one of his hands perching on his hip for emphasis. The early afternoon light played off of the reflective surfaces of the polished buttons lining his dark, crisp coat and pinstriped pants; the buckles on his shoes seemed to scatter it to all four corners of the room. Only his glasses were out of perfect position, and he rectified the mistake with a single finger, guiding them back to the bridge of his nose.

“I asked her to take the day off. You may not realize it, but she’s been running herself in circles, trying to find new things to keep your attention on your studies and out of those fairy tales of yours. With thirteen summers and all of her patience behind you, you’ve grown capable enough in the basic principles of education. Your instincts are more… refined. To hear her tell it, she now suspects _boredom_ to be standing in your way, rather than _inattention_.”

I’d learned from experience that _boredom_ was the sort of word best uttered in the space between my ears. Speaking it aloud resulted in extra — and unnecessary — chores. Still, he’d hit the proverbial nail on the head. The letters I’d struggled to find the will to master had become little more than a standard and expected nuisance. Reading had never been a struggle. And Master Hughes himself could attest to my understanding of mathematics. I’d spent more time in the last several months learning to perfect my fishing technique instead.

“Yes, sir. Is there something more that I can be doing for you? The house is as clean as I can make it, and you haven’t been going on as many trips lately now that winter’s come. I won’t be needed in Limsa Lominsa for a few weeks, and… um, the bookseller said she had nothing left for me in my age bracket the last time I was there. So—”

The ingrained habit of watching for subtle motions in others hadn’t quite left me despite Berke’s absence. Though Master Hughes did his best to keep a straight face through my outburst, his eyes narrowed half an ilm, and he spoke as if I’d never said anything at all.

“Emiko _also_ tells me that I work you too hard. And yet you are asking me for _more_. My intent in hiring you was to see you become a _man_ , Raphail, not simply a cart chocobo. Truth be told, I had assumed you would make some friends your own age by now. There are limits to how much value _that_ sort of education has, mind you, but she advised me to plan ahead for the possibility. ‘Boys should be boys,’ or some such logic. I may be a _devoted_ recluse, but even I am not without my fondness for others every now and then.”

His study of me ended in a surprising glance toward the floor and an awkward shuffle of his feet. If it hadn’t been for what he said _next_ , I might have noticed the glaring omission of Emiko- _sensei_ ’s honorific; an error worth my entire allowance for _two weeks_.

“I need not tell you that boys your age have a tendency to awaken to less… savory pursuits, as well. Surely something stirs in _you_. I do _not_ need to hear the sordid details, of course, but there are certain precautions I would take with you first, lest Emiko- _sensei_ be faced with the indignity of explaining them in my stead. I will _not_ raise a monster in my household, be it one born of ignorance or false entitlement. You remember Berke, do you not?”

As if it were possible to _forget_. Lying in a crumpled heap at that whoreson’s feet while he forced himself onto and into a woman that had only tried her best to protect the weakest and most vulnerable among the children at the Birch was an experience that I prayed would never leave me — if only to ensure that I never allowed it to happen again while I lived. Every muscle in my body froze in place as my mind seized on that single, defining fact.

“He… took what wasn’t his. I heard it. I _saw_ it. Everyone at the Birch did. And if Mama had seen it, she’d have slit his throat where he stood. I wish I’d done the same. Sir.”

Master Hughes raked a sheepish hand through his hair before he responded, letting the temperature in the room rise a little in the wake of the sudden chill.

“That… was insensitive, I’ll grant you. If it helps, I never expected to _need_ to have this conversation at my age. There will be some blunders. All I ask is that you represent this house and the name I have given you well. No brutality. No embarrassing public exposure. And no… _attachments_. I am raising a young man already. I cannot take on an infant too.”

 _That_ , at least, was a subject I could focus on without disaster; Raph’to and Raph’li had often taken it upon themselves to fill in the gaps of my knowledge regarding my birthright when Mama was out of the room. “You don’t have to, sir. I’m a _Keeper_. _Girls_ raise the babies. It’s our job as boys to make more of ‘em when we’re not out seeking our fortunes. That’s how it works.”

The exasperated sigh that Master Hughes let out was strong enough to disturb the heavy curtains covering the windows behind me.

“Maybe that’s how things worked back in that cave of yours, but you’ll notice that _this isn’t a cave anymore_. Lay with the other women of Eorzea and you’ll find their assumptions to be very different on that matter. Understand that I will hold _you_ responsible for the lifetime of payments and unknowns that await you at the end of that line of logic, though I will be able to do _naught_ about the weight of knowing that your blood will live on separate from your body. So kindly keep your trousers _buttoned_ until you’re old enough to be responsible for what’s inside.”

I felt my cheeks turning redder with every word he spoke. It hadn’t been so long ago that Emiko- _sensei_ had mentioned something of the sort. I’d thought my door was locked that night, but she had somehow entered in the middle of an _unfortunate_ moment of self-exploration with a hot cup of tea and a book she’d promised me during our daily lesson — I must have been too distracted to notice her knock. Had she told him what she’d seen and heard? She’d been red enough herself when she left, but her words through my closed door had been kind enough.

 _It seems that you are old enough now for some extra privacy, young master. Next time I will knock louder. But… I remain your_ teacher _. And your_ friend _. Paint what pretty pictures you must in your mind, if it soothes your loneliness for a time — but acting on them is a privilege reserved for men that are no longer as young as you are. Pray continue to give me your clever_ mind _. I shall leave your body and heart to the care of others, once you are grown. Do you understand?_

The incident had not, for a mercy, altered our friendship in the slightest. She was far too patient and gentle for that. And for my part, I _had_ understood — well enough to triple-check both my lock and my volume each night thereafter, at least. Laying hands on the woman that served as my teacher and dearest friend was well beyond the reach of the child I was; I had never planned for her to discover the interest in the first place! But like the fairy tales that Master Hughes so despised, there was nothing to stop me from _dreaming_. And so I did.

It was the only reason Menphina had not seen fit to make a sire of me _already_ — though I suspected that was the sort of “sordid detail” I’d been asked _not_ to provide. Master Hughes’ warning was at least one summer too late in its arrival for one born under Her sign, at least when it came to the breadth and depth of the things that went on in my mind.

‘Y-Yes, sir. Buttoned. I understand.”

I’d taken too long to reply, of course, and I watched him consider his next words carefully; in the end, his urge to end the conversation won out over his suspicion.

“Good. Forget this at your own peril. I won’t be reminding you, boy. Your first duty is to _me_ , and to this estate. Honor that, and all else will fall into place, should you desire it. Though frankly, I think the whole thing is a waste of time. The foolishness that drives men to such _illogical_ notions as love… there is more to life than this, Raphail. Consider the journey from one strange place to another. The depths of the unknown and unknowable. The answers to life’s mysteries. But we remain animals, all of us. I often wonder what we could be capable of without such limitations.”

 _Love is… a limitation? But the Teller’s Tales always make it seem like the most beautiful thing in the world! When the hero finally confesses his feelings to his lady love after fighting by her side, he doesn’t seem_ weak _to me. He seems_ stronger _for knowing she’s there. She gives him the strength to keep fighting. Right now, Emiko-_ sensei _is the closest thing that I have, but… someday, maybe I’ll find someone my own age. We’ll go on adventures together too. If I had that kind of love… maybe I’d be stronger than the weak, scared little kitten I still am._

I was far too young to realize his personal investment in that line of defense, and even more so to see the truth in his claim that things outside the realm of love were _also_ worthy of value. From where I sat, burdened by dreams of a romantic _someday_ that promised a lifetime’s worth of companionship tailor-made to help me forget my broken past, he seemed so Twelves-damned sad that I wanted to cry. And yet I knew he wouldn’t approve of _that_. What was more, I’d spent my own limited free time in his house _fishing_ and _reading_ by turns.

By all accounts, I was a model child; the bookseller had told me more than once that she’d have kept me for herself if she could, and it was a sentiment shared by at least half of Master Hughes’ scholarly peers. But the last time I’d seen someone my own age was back at the Bending Birch. The last time I’d been close enough to _care_ was with Delphine. What if I’d already missed my chance to find my _someday_ by being too scared to reach out?

_I’m not an old man yet. But Master Hughes always jokes that I act like one. And it’s getting less funny every time he says it. I can’t afford to jeopardize my place here, but… maybe it’s all right to worry a little less. He hasn’t thrown me out yet. And he could have, if he’d wanted to._

A large hand bearing the Hughes heraldry in steel form upon its ring finger waved back and forth in front of my face, startling me out of my thoughts.

“You need not prove Emiko- _sensei_ ’s words quite so thoroughly, boy. Perhaps you will listen better if I change the subject.” Master Hughes was back to his old self, giving proud, confident orders at the head of the room instead of waxing poetic about journeys and unknowns. “I didn’t come here to lecture you, though I _was_ keen to take advantage of the opportunity. Your lessons are proceeding ahead of schedule, and you seem to be comfortable now with the demands of this estate. I think it is _indeed_ time to entrust you with a few new duties to reflect this.”

I focused my gaze on him at once, my full attention on his words. As he’d stated in the midst of his warning regarding best practices in romance, he had never been wont to explain himself twice on a given subject. New information was best attended to _immediately_.

“Yes, sir. What do you need of me?”

Something subtle that I couldn’t quite place flickered across his face, but he gave me no time to consider it before forging ahead. “So far, I have prioritized bringing your education in line with the standard expectations for boys of your age among families of my standing. The raw edges of your birth and circumstances are now even, after a fashion. And yet, the boy I see before me remains… if you’ll pardon the expression, more _feral_ than polite society recommends.”

I was finally old enough to appreciate his words for the veiled insult they were, even if I was still unwilling to challenge their validity out loud in the face of authority. I tried my best not to scowl as he continued without stopping, never noticing the shift in my bearing.

“I would develop your growth _outside_ the realm of academia as well. There comes a time in every gentleman’s life in which he must prove himself able to adapt to the demands of those around him. This involves proper conduct among all peoples of the world, of course, but also the finer things — martial skill, proper fashion sense, creative passion, and an intimate knowledge of the past as it truly happened. Those fairy tales of yours are naught but empty _recreations_.”

He never missed an opportunity to dig at the Teller’s Tales anymore. Remembering what Berke had done to my copies at the Bending Birch, I’d begun hiding them in secret — just in case. Fortunately, none of it mattered in the moment. The words he was speaking didn’t apply to me.

“I’m not a gentleman, sir. I’m a boy that grew up in a cave.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, somehow managing to look as stubborn as Mama had when she was ending a stupid fight between kittens.

“That is true _now_ , yes. But it doesn’t have to be. I appreciate that you have memories you want to cling to, boy, but no man remains unchanged from what he is at birth. You have come far enough from what you once were to suit my needs, albeit in your own way. Now I am asking you to _continue_ that growth, in order to better serve me and others that come into contact with you. Your desire to improve and adapt has not escaped my notice. You could be an asset to this world, Raphail, not just this estate. Is that not what you want?”

I wasn’t sure that I appreciated the unspoken idea that a lack of courtly manners indicated a lack of worth to the world. Too many of the characters in the Teller’s Tales had come up from nothing, just like me, and ventured into greatness with their heads held high. I had never considered myself to be holding anything back for the sake of my cherished memories; _who I was_ had never limited me, and I’d never had cause to hide it from anyone but Hawk or Berke.

Still, the question he raised was important, and I couldn’t deny the truth at its core. Though my heart leapt into my throat and my hands started to shake, two things stood out to me.

The first was that he _wanted_ me to agree. Meeting his needs and pleasing him had been my highest priority since my arrival at his estate, and his casual admission that I had _succeeded_ meant more than I was capable of processing at that moment. Even if the fear of someday being abandoned or _let go_ had begun to lessen, it still lurked in the shadows — and he and Emiko- _sensei_ deserved the best that I could offer them for all that they’d done for me.

The second was how very similar his words were to the Teller’s Tales, though he couldn’t have known. Every hero worth his salt had been faced with such a choice, once upon a time; to take up arms and stride forth to make the world brighter. The adventures before me were of a slightly less perilous nature, of course, but they felt of equal weight to my nervous mind and heart. What _could_ I be, if I had the chance? I’d always wanted to find out.

The opportunity had never come before; not in the damp earth and stone of my family’s cave, or the four tiny walls of Delphine’s farmhouse, or the claustrophobic iron grip of the Birch. From birth, I’d been subject to the narrative of others; the youngest son, the fox in the henhouse, and the troublemaker. Only Master Hughes had the power to let me seek _my_ fortune, such as it was.

 _I don’t want to forget who I am. But I don’t think he’s asking for that, not really. If I can become something strong enough to face this world and make it a better place for others like myself, I’ll be a credit to Mama and the others, too. I just have to be brave and learn fast. And Emiko-_ sensei _says that I do both of those things really well already._

I looked up at Master Hughes, meeting his steely gaze with what I hoped was a steady resolve instead of the uncertain but excited mess that I fought to contain on the inside.

“Yes, sir. That _is_ what I want. To make this world better. To ease the burdens of others. If being a gentleman is what it takes to get there, then… please, teach me.”

The brief smile he’d worn when he first entered the room returned, and I realized that for the first time ever, each and every ilm of his face was lined with relief — or was that joy? As he nodded to me with newfound respect, I found that I was content with the possibility of either.

“I am glad to hear it. You truly are a credit to this house, Raphail. And I will see to making sure that you have everything that you need — _including_ those extra leaves of absence. Pray put them to use wisely. Your studies with Emiko- _sensei_ will continue to ensure that you stay in top form, but I fear you’ll be seeing less of her and more of _me_ for these extra lessons. And now that I have your agreement, _I_ must make time for them on my calendar. _You_ will have the rest of today to yourself before they begin — starting tomorrow.”

An entire day to myself? It was _unthinkable_! In any other company, I would have immediately excused myself to my bedroom and indulged in my books with no fear of interruption or distraction. But Master Hughes’ lecture about using my time for other things still rang in my ears. My books would still be there for me when I returned — and the small, proud part of me that raised its voice amidst my nervousness wanted to find a way to mark the decision I’d made in permanent, tangible fashion. It was what my favorite hero would have done in my shoes.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I… think I’ll head into the city for now. Some fresh air sounds nice, and maybe I’ll pick up dinner while I’m out. There’s a lady selling Miq’abobs not far from here that taste a lot like Mama’s used to. I can bring you something else, of course.”

He waved his hand at me, already wrinkling his nose in disgust for reasons that defied the very logic and reason that he prized. It was clear that he’d never spent _any_ time in the actual company of my kind before, but even with my growing knowledge of how little respect he had for us, how did he manage to be so offended by _grilled meat on a stick_?! Emiko- _sensei_ had mentioned a similar dish in her homeland called _yakiniku_ ; part of me was stubborn enough to consider swapping the names just to see if it made a difference in his opinion.

“No need, boy. I will fend for myself. But thank you for the consideration. See to it that you’re home by dusk. I will lock the front door _myself_ when the eighth bell rings.”

“Of course, sir. See you later!”

As I left the room, I could feel his eyes on me, taking in something that only he could see. Only once I’d shut the door behind me, leaving his stare in my wake, did I break my measured stride and run for the estate’s front door — promptly leaving my jacket and hat behind.

Teaching me to be a proper gentleman, I thought, might well be the death of us both.

* * *

I glance up from my dutiful scribbling and rub my tired eyes as the longcase chronometer against the far wall of the study rings the ten-’o-clock morning bell.

Judging from the passage of time and the lack of audible chaos beyond my locked door, Malkin’s distraction has served its purpose; Zee remains unaware of my presence, for the moment. The long scratches that adorn the bottom of the door’s outward face are a clear reminder of what happens when a proud Keeper woman such as herself fails to get what she wants; not unlike a _pet_ cat, though I am loath to say it after my own history with Delphine.

The word-filled pages before me are only the beginning of my day’s work, however. Though they highlight what I _now_ see as the fulcrum on which the man I am today pivoted away from the child I was, they are by no means easy to recollect. There remains much that I mourn of my sudden and early introduction to so-called high society, even now that I have grown stronger and wiser — and, I pray, kinder — for the experience. I have Hughes to thank for both the joys and the sorrows that came from it; everything he did, in his own way, was in service to me.

In the hands of a less exacting guardian, perhaps I might have found the safety and stability that I still lack; or, at the very least, the freedom of being content in my own skin. But what would I have given up in exchange? There is _something_ to be said for all the pomp and circumstance when the curtain falls. Behind the endless pressure and the pursuit of perfection lies the truth: with enough practice, any man with a quick mind and a willingness to transcend his own limits can _pass_ for something extraordinary, so long as the purity of his blood is not a factor.

Even if he is only a “feral” little stray, born in a cave.

My gaze returns to the desk in front of me, and I lower the tip of my quill to a fresh page of parchment. Lili has encouraged me to be as wordy as necessary, which is good — my mind has ever been louder than my actual voice. Perhaps she can make it look more organized and elegant than I can by the time it reaches the Mythril Eye’s esteemed readers. Until then, however, she gets what she has asked for; the truth, however messy and uncomfortable it may be. And in light of that rule, I already know where it is best to pick up my tale.

 _He started me on music and art, at first. Said it was the duty of a proper gentleman to put a jaunty tune to others’ words, and to fill the barren spaces of the world with beauty, whenever the occasion demanded it. I think he thought it would be easy to fit between Emiko-_ sensei _’s other lessons until I got more comfortable with my new expectations. You’re a clever sort, so I don’t need to tell you what an absolute load of chocobo shite this was as regards my humble self at thirteen summers. May Hydaelyn_ never _ask me to wield a_ paintbrush _in Eorzea’s defense._

 _I made my peace with the music, after a fashion. Practicing long hours in front of the lute he pushed on me from his own childhood impinged on my reading time. Emiko-_ sensei _said he told her he was the same way once, but you’d never know that from the way he snarled about it. After a week or two of pushback, he decided to mandate recitals to test my progress, so I had no choice but to comply. He and Emiko-_ sensei _claimed that I have a good ear and a solid sense of rhythm, but I so rarely make time for it now, even if I’m sometimes moved to play something._

 _I swore the day he died would be the last time I played_ Waltz de Chocobo _. And I’ve held myself to that oath even harder than the one I made to remember my own family._

 _As for singing… I can stand on the Twelve’s-damned stage and make twenty people think their smallclothes disappeared for hours at a time without flinching, but there’s something terrifying about using my voice for anything other than words. I can’t stand the sound of it, even if everyone else tells me it’s fine — even good. Making_ you _turn red is easy enough, but with that anecdote in your quiver, you can return the favor. I’ll make sure I behave myself from now on._

The grin that finds its way onto my face as I write is equal parts punctuation to my story, and an acknowledgment of the fact that the relationship between Lili and me has finally reached the point where I know that any threat of _demonstration_ would be a bluff on her part. After our last encounter, she has had _ample_ opportunity to ruin me, if she wished to. Her interest in the truth, and in my life — for its own sake, not Eorzea’s — seems to be enough to keep her by my side.

Though I have made many friends over the course of my journey, I can count on one hand the number of them that I’ve had like her. It still amazes me every day that she stays. But to _say_ so would mean being softer than she’s comfortable with, and so I continue to scribble instead.

 _History and languages came after that, and took a couple of summers in total. As you can imagine, I was in the best of hands for the former. He asked a lot of me, and it was hard to keep up with him at times, but he was a different man whenever he opened a textbook. His passion and conviction were such that I almost mistook the lot for the same kind of fiction I read for pleasure — which he would have put a boot through my backside for saying, I’m_ certain _. I’ll never inherit his excruciating attention to detail, but his love for Eorzea was his finest gift to me._

I am about to continue when a sudden, unexpected flash of melancholy invades my focus. It takes me a few moments of brooding to understand the reason why. Though it is true that I have always wished that I could better pay tribute to his photographic memory of days gone by, Master Hughes is not the _only_ man whose love for history — and Eorzea — I continue to shame with my layman’s love for the subject matter. My mind knows it, at least, even if my heart refuses to acknowledge the most charming similarities between my father and—

—no. It is yet too soon after my journey through the Crystal Tower for me to linger on the thought of his crimson hair and matching eyes, let alone his _name_. That way lies madness — and more flagons of ale than I am prepared to commit to while daylight burns. I have a _job_ to do, and Zee’s patience is finite, and the day grows longer — for _me_ , at least — with every bell.

That, and the future he most desired to protect, is all that matters _now_.

I force the memory out of my mind and pour myself into the page before me. If I am lucky, Llli cannot somehow detect the lengthy pause in my tale through my writing alone.

_From reading this missive, you can surmise that my Eorzean is as good as anyone’s. Speaking it well and clearly was a focus for Master Hughes, and for the stage too, once I got there. Given his deep interest in scholarly pursuits, he tried to pass on his general knowledge of the Sharlayan tongue as well. I’ll never give a speech or write a novel in it, but I’m comfortable with the basics. As for Doman… of course he let Emiko-sensei handle that charge directly._

_Let us say only that my comprehension of her mother tongue is now marginally better than it was when I called her_ Emiko-sin-see _. If I ever find myself in Hingashi or Doma for any length of time, I expect to need a professional translator and several weeks of recovery after I_ inevitably _use the word_ oppai _instead of_ ippai _at the wrong moment. The Echo may smooth over most misunderstandings, but Hydaelyn can’t protect me from my own stupidity forever._

My words are jovial enough on paper, but the unsuccessful attempt to push aside my intrusive feelings has already done its damage, aided by my casual mention of Sharlayan — _he_ had been so proud of his many accomplishments there. I might have pegged them for childish boasts, had the confident smile he’d worn every time he mentioned them been less convincing. Perhaps, if he had stayed there instead of making his way to Saint Coinach’s, I would never have met him. Perhaps that would have been kinder for the both of us… or, perhaps, just for _me_.

The mood in both the room and my head is far darker than it was when I first sat down. I let out a long sigh and lower my head to the desk in front of me, resting it in the comforting circle of my arms. If dwelling on the _recent_ past will break me, perhaps I can use the sudden heaviness of my heart to help tackle the less pleasant aspects of my education as a gentleman instead. There must be a silver lining in all of this _somewhere_ , or so I keep telling myself.

I should know by now that denying it ever happened, or pushing it to the back of my mind with no more importance than what I ate for breakfast last summer, only serves to destabilize me further. But since I do not, I must trust Baderon and the Drowning Wench to know it _for_ me.

Faint black lines — temporary scars borne of ink that has not yet fully dried — line my arms as I pick myself up again and redouble my efforts on the half-filled page before me.

_Perhaps this all sounds too good to be true, knowing me. It was only after I’d learned the nature of men, cultures, societies, and beliefs, that my father put a sword in my hand and bade me use it to defend my own. It has been a blessing in disguise, given the life I lead now as a Warrior of Light, but… at the time, I was Vohl’s baby brother. I was Berke’s slave. And it never mattered. I’d ceased to be either from the moment I’d entered his house._

_What mattered to him was that I learned to be the man he wanted me to be._

* * *

The first thing that I noticed when I stepped into the classroom on that chilly winter morning was that Master Hughes had pushed aside Emiko- _sensei_ ’s favorite heavy teaching table, along with my desk. The center of the room was uncomfortably barren in their absence; the markings where they’d been before still lingered on the dusty floor. I _had_ done the dusting, of course — every day, without fail. But some things were eternal, and dust was one of them. It was lucky for me that he seemed to agree — or, at least, he had other things to put his mind to instead.

The second thing I noticed was that his bare back was facing me, showing off the impressive musculature he’d maintained despite his age and chosen profession. Despite my fifteen summers, the last adult male I’d seen shirtless up close outside of the occasional Lominsan pirate had been Berke; my first instinct was to vomit. Still, he was both my father and my master, and I knew well after so many years in his care that such a display must have had a purpose.

The third thing, though it took me longer to notice, held my attention far tighter than either of the first two: the unadorned, slender rapier in his dominant hand. He was focused on the act of polishing the aged steel with an oil-stained rag, or so it appeared. As I shut the door behind me, he lifted his head and straightened his shoulders at once without turning to face me. His commanding voice echoed off the back wall of the room, sounding louder than usual.

“Raphail. I trust you’ve eaten breakfast this morning? The kitchen smells like the bloody Bismarck. I didn’t think Lyngsath hired apprentices your age.”

Despite my intentions — and uncertainty — I couldn’t help but blush like a kitten at the rare praise. Wiping it off my face before he turned around would be a challenge.

“Yes, sir. Fried dodo eggs, toast, and coffee, plus some… leftovers from my last trip to the city. I’d have saved you a plate, but you usually just want the coffee. Should I have asked first?”

He shook his head, giving me the time I needed to corral my pride. For a mercy, he was still too busy to catch me in the childish act — or the omission. Telling him I’d reheated the charred, greasy ends of my usual Miq’abobs as a side dish would have been asking for trouble. In the last several years, I’d learned to hold my peace on _that_ unless _directly_ asked.

“It’s fine, boy. I merely wanted to be sure you’d eaten well. A piece of fruit and a roll won’t hold you for today’s lesson. Youthful vigor will only account for the beginnings, or so I _hope_ , at least. It’s been a bell or two since I last wielded this _myself_ , as you can see.”

Unfortunately for us both, I had yet to disengage my mind from the awkward scene before me. As Delphine could attest, the sight of mere nudity had never been a problem for me — but my trips to Limsa Lominsa were always filled with colorful commentary from the ladies regarding his _availability_ , and what he might have been capable of beneath the sheets had he a _proper_ interest in advertising. It seemed that his lessons in the gentlemanly arts had helped them to forget my age. Looking at him now, it was far easier to appreciate their concern.

He finally turned to face me, and I forced my gaze _up_ into his, avoiding his bare chest as best I could. Had becoming a man myself changed me, somehow? It had certainly changed the way I looked at the _ladies_ of my acquaintance — the bookseller was _Mama’s_ age! It was impolite to say the least, whatever my heart and body chose to think behind closed doors.

I’d never considered a matching interest in my own kind before, though such things were somewhat unremarkable among my people — but _that_ was a question I had no time for in the moment, and it was easier to blame the lot on my adolescence instead.

I watched him without blinking as he stepped forward, holding his rapier out in front of him and testing its balance in the wide space between us. The sharp thrust and quick flicks of his wrist from side to side were far faster than I’d assumed for a man of his years. It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, but I’d given no thought to his fighting strength beyond the magical power locked away in his private collection of books. I’d never had need to before.

Though I hated to admit it, even to myself, standing there in the dusty sunlight with his ancient sword in hand, looking like some forgotten hero from the pages of the Teller’s Tales… he was indisputably one of the most _impressive_ men I’d ever seen with my own eyes.

At least, he was _until_ he spoke again.

“If you have time to _stare_ , boy, then you have time to _listen_. This blade may look pretty enough to you, but mistake it for a toy at your peril. Whatever your books may tell you, swords are not for pulling out of stones or nicking from ancient faerie kings. They are _tools_ for ending a threat to your life, and _naught_ else. If you fail to properly observe your own conduct and that of your enemy while wielding one, blood _will_ be spilled. It might even be your own.”

Over the past summer, I’d been losing my patience with his constant need to judge both my past and my private interests. That, too, was a sign that I was firmly in the throes of youthful insolence — _his_ words, not mine. He had tolerated the minor attempts I’d made to defend myself in light of that assumption — but they hadn’t changed his opinion a single ilm. The fear of angering him enough to result in my dismissal, however, kept the loudest of them private.

 _For the five-hundredth time, old man, I_ know _what you think of my damned_ books _. If you’re not going to stop me from buying them, then kindly piss off instead of always—!_

Lost in my annoyance, I didn’t see him move until he was right next to me, his coffee-laden breath less than an ilm from my face. The only signal my brain gave to tell me that anything had happened was a soft, short rasping sound; a half-ilm-wide section of my shoulder-length hair fluttered to the tile beneath us and scattered into distant strands. Dazed, I reached up to confirm its absence — and my fingers found the rough cowlick of newly-shorn hair right away.

“H-Hey! Why… why would you—”

He sighed, crossing the room to restore the sizable distance between us before he spoke. I’d disappointed him, somehow. He didn’t even _need_ to say so — but he did.

“You still aren’t ready, are you? I knew it from the moment I came here. But the truth is that _every_ man ought to know how to defend himself, and _you_ more than most. I am not the wealthiest of men, but there are those that would kill for less than I possess. And what I lack in physical fortune, I lay claim to in knowledge. I have given you as much time to be _soft_ as I can, Raphail. If you are to serve my interests, then you must be ready to protect them. Let Emiko think what she will of me. I _must_ see this through.”

Nothing he prefaced with _that_ announcement had _ever_ gone over well. Still, I did my best to focus on his words, nonsensical though they seemed to be.

“Um… but we’ve never been attacked, sir, except for that one time back when Emiko- _sensei_ was hurt. She said they were looking for _her_ , not you. There're pirates in Limsa, of course, but the ones that don’t slap me on the back and threaten to buy me a grog just glare and tell me to get out from underfoot. I have my dagger if they try anything, but—”

From the look in his eyes as they narrowed, I knew that I’d somehow stepped in a hornet’s nest; whatever he said next was going to be hard to hear. But even with that warning in place, nothing in the world could have prepared me for his actual words.

“ _Do_ you, now? Where _was_ it, pray tell, when I cut you just now? Where was your _spear_ when Berke beat you to a bloody pulp? When he did _actual harm_ to a woman you _claim_ to have cared about? He _killed_ her, boy. You know it as well as I do. He would have killed _another_ , had I not intervened. How many others did he kill because _your_ courage went wandering?”

He wasn’t yelling. His tone was as even as it had ever been, but I felt as if he’d shouted at the top of his lungs from less than an ilm away. He’d never given any indication before — even at my adoption — that he held _me_ responsible for what had happened at the Birch; the mere thought brought my stomach up into my throat. To make matters worse, the dagger in question wasn’t even on my person. I’d used it to slice Miq’abob meat and never looked back.

I hung my head as he spoke again.

“You were afraid. Unprepared. Naive. _Foolish_. You came to him expecting logic and reason and _cheek_ to save you, but you got an _animal_ instead. And that _animal_ proceeded to exploit the weakness inside you to get away with _everything_ until I walked in. Understanding the reason behind that weakness is _necessary_ , and anyone with half a heart and a brain will do so — but that does _not_ make your failure to _learn_ from the experience right with the Twelve.”

He set his rapier on the floor in front of him; blinded by my own silent tears, I _heard_ him move more than I saw it. But he still wasn’t finished with his lecture.

“So don’t tell _me_ you’ve got a _bloody_ dagger, boy. Until you dispose of your weakness, you are no _man_. You are no _gentleman_. You are a _boy_ in need of saving. A _boy_ that puts lives at risk.”

“Shut _up_!”

Even though my voice had long since dropped in service to puberty, the pitch of it in that moment could have rivaled an infant’s. The words themselves felt like they belonged to someone else; someone else’s lips had formed them. But it was far too late for misplaced, imaginary blame; he’d struck far too hard below the belt without warning. My rage took me well past the point of fearing for my future before I even had time to consider it.

“How was I supposed to know what he would do?! I’d never even _held_ a weapon for more than gutting fish or hunting game! I _wanted_ to fight him, I _wanted_ to stop him, even… even if it meant killing him… but… but I’d have been just like _him_! How could I _not_ have been scared?! I was five _fucking_ summers old! I’d lost _everything_! I… I didn’t want _any_ of this!”

Of course, he filled the void I’d left for him by giving into my emotions. If he cared about my colorful language, he gave no sign of it; perhaps he’d expected it. It somehow shocked me _more_ that he had nothing to say about my anger, my tears, or the absence of his customary “sir.”

“As I said. Understanding _why_ you failed is _necessary_. Given the circumstances, one could argue that you were _set up_ to fail. Few children of my acquaintance ever had the luxury of living apart from the rest of the world in a _cave_ with naught but their own families for shelter. It is crucial to learn to live amongst the realities of this world, harsh though they may be.”

I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look up at his face.

“Whether you _could_ have succeeded or not is irrelevant. Taking responsibility for the fact that you _did not_ is the first act of any man, let alone any gentleman. And furthermore, instead of asking yourself how to overcome the weakness that undid you, you tucked your tail between your legs and handed that animal your own reins. You learned _naught_ but how to enable wickedness and serve the unworthy. How many years did he take from you, boy?”

My teeth ached from the pressure of grinding them together as I spat my answer at him.

“I learned how to _survive_! Where should I have learned the art of killing in an _orphanage_?! From Berke himself? I can imagine what he’d have done to me if I went in there and threw a fist! It would’ve been more than just a pretty maid you cleaned up in his bedchamber!”

Master Hughes crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

“More excuses. It has been _five summers_ since you came to live in this house. You’ve seen Eorzea and all her many sins, both in my company _and_ on your own. I told you that dagger was meant for you to protect yourself when necessary, but you never _once_ asked me how to _use_ it. Most boys in your position when we met would have begged me for fighting lessons _first_. Perhaps you enjoyed your treatment at Berke’s hands more than I assumed.”

He didn’t give me an opportunity to object, much less in the fashion I wanted to.

“Even after an up-close demonstration of how easy it is for someone you love to lose her life to violence, it still never occurred to you that your weakness could have _guaranteed_ her demise _and_ yours. You thought _you_ could stand over her dying body and fight a Twelve’s-damned army with an ornamental knife? _You_ are the one that cleaned her _blood_ off the walls!”

This time, his voice was less even. I didn’t need to ask why. What was more, he was _right_. After the events of that day, I’d thrown myself into the pursuit of adjusting to the chaos of Limsa Lominsa and the new duties of attending functions in his stead. Aside from a newfound interest in the healing arts and a handful of questions that Emiko- _sensei_ wasn’t at liberty to answer, I’d taken little else away from the experience. The fact that she’d killed her assailant had bothered me at first, but Mama had once killed a man too. She hadn’t _wanted_ to… but she had.

To protect her kittens. To protect a future into which I had not yet been born.

What was the difference between her and me? If she’d been alive, I would have asked her — but she was deep underground, lost beneath the waves she treasured.

Master Hughes took my silence as a sign that I was thinking — a minor miracle that I was far too exhausted, heartsick, and angry to appreciate in the moment. After a handful of minutes, he felt obligated to end the stalemate, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

“Listen to me, Raphail. Even the beasts of this world do not _want_ to kill. They simply do what is required for their own survival. Aught that thinks otherwise is a monster, incapable of rational thought. But there are times in a man’s life when he is all that stands between prosperity and the utter destruction of his ideals and civilization. Perhaps someday this world will evolve the peace and unity to think otherwise, but it will not be in my lifetime or yours. I don’t expect you to _like_ that fact, but Lady Truth has never cared much for what men _like_.”

He glanced down at the rapier he’d set on the floor between us.

“For the sake of protecting this world, and for the sake of the knowledge that I have worked so hard to bring to Eorzea’s people, I _must_ know that you are capable of understanding this. Accepting it will serve you too, in time. I promise you that.”

As I stared at his boots, he stuck out one of them and kicked the handle of the rapier he’d dropped, sending it sliding across the tiled floor toward me with a loud, metallic scrape. The blade came to rest at the tips of my own boots, lying before me like a physical representation of the line that he was demanding that I cross. He _wanted_ me to pick it up and obey; nothing had been clearer in my mind before, and perhaps nothing would be after.

Somehow the moment felt so much more _real_ than it ever had in the Teller’s Tales. At the time, I would have given _anything_ for the intervention of a strange power and the end of the world. A few short summers later, I would understand how foolish _that_ thought was, too.

 _I-If I’d actually succeeded in killing Berke back then, I would have_ wanted _to. That… would have made me a monster, even if he deserved it. But even the heroes of the Teller’s Tales have to fight and hurt others, sometimes. If they didn’t, then hundreds and thousands more would suffer instead. I… could learn to fight well enough not to_ have _to kill, just like they do._

 _But… even then, there might come a time when I have to kill to protect someone I love, or to stop a monster like Berke from having his way with others. I’d rather_ talk _first. I’d rather find any other way to stop them. I don’t_ want _to hurt anyone. I_ want _to protect everything! B-But… if I’m too weak and scared to do what must be done… then… it’ll always be… my fault when the people around me die. Like Mama. Like Allaz. Like the others._

For a single moment, the conversations I’d had with Allaz shortly before his death crept into the back of my mind. He’d told me that the things that happened to us _weren’t_ our fault. He’d said that was what made them so very _sad_. And he’d also said that it didn’t matter as much as I thought _why_ things happened the way they did. What was most important was how I reacted to the things I didn’t understand. The last part, at least, seemed to echo Master Hughes’ words.

As for the rest… he’d been one summer older than me when he said it. No longer truly a boy, but not a _man_ , either. Perhaps he’d never had the chance to learn it for himself. And so the duty was _mine_ to learn it _for_ him, and to carry it forward for the sake of my family and my future — even if a small part of me wanted nothing more than to punch my adopted father and master square in the jaw for the countless things he’d always held against me in silence.

 _I thought my family would always be there to protect me. I thought I would find a new family to take their place. Master Hughes has always been harsh but fair, and Emiko-_ sensei _has been so kind, but… maybe it’s time for me to face reality, like he said. I’m his son, now. And every second I spend waiting for a miracle is another second I spend failing him. So…_

The expression on my face was blank as I bent down to grasp the hilt of his rapier and lifted the weapon with an ease that surprised me. It was lighter and more maneuverable than the other swords I’d seen in my life, even the rusted ones that washed up from time to time near my family’s old cave. I didn’t have the proper grip, of course, and I had to struggle to keep the tip from sinking down to the floor through sheer ignorance of the balance required.

But as I opened my mouth to speak, my knuckles white against the rapier’s handle, I thought I saw a single hint of a smile cross his face for the first time that morning.

“Fine. I’m sick of being weak. I’m sick of needing others to protect me. I’m sick of letting bad things happen to people I love. So if this thing will make it all stop… then teach me.”

He held my gaze with his own for a few breathless moments, judging my worthiness; or so it seemed to me. By the time he nodded at last, the barely-veiled contempt in his eyes had faded to a grim solemnity fit for the equal that I had become, not the child I had been before.

“Hmm. Perhaps there _is_ a man inside you after all. We shall see.”

Later that night, after he’d put me through my first paces and sent me limping off to bed, his words and my new relationship to them kept me wide awake when I should have been resting my aching muscles. The only food I could manage to keep down was the fruit-and-roll breakfast that he’d mocked that morning. But one thing was clear above all others.

I was no longer a boy that grew up in a cave. I was a boy on his way to becoming a _man_.


	14. Exit Stage Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fifth interview marches on, and Raphail’s exhausted mind and heart linger too long on fragments of a dearly departed friend. Trapped between the chaos of his complicated past, its influence on his present, and all the things he never had the chance to say, his mental state starts to deteriorate. This time, even LIli cannot spare him what is to come.

“I find it ironic that happy endings now are called fairytale endings because there's nothing happy about most fairytale endings.”  
—Joe Wright

“Mal-kiiiin? Why is the study door locked? I want to reeeead!”

The loud wail outside cuts into my thoughts like a hot knife through yak butter, slipping through the cracks around the doorframe with no effort at all. I drag my quill carelessly across the page in my haste to drop it and rise from my chair. If Zee starts to cause property damage again, it will go poorly for the estate’s sale value and mean more repair work for Malkin at best. At worst, it will require me to break my silence in order to put a brief but necessary end to her theatrics.

I can hear Malkin’s measured footsteps attending to her already, though he is still on the stairs; all of us being Miqo’te, there are no advantages to be taken through hearing distance alone.

“Easy, my lady. Did I not tell you that the rug inside has been washed? Pray have patience while it dries. I would not see that lovely dress of yours wet and soiled before lunchtime. Perhaps I can interest you in an extra pot of tea and a cookie outside? The sky is quite blue today.”

“No. I want to _read_. With Raph’ir. He’s in there. So open it. _Now._ ”

The doorknob rattles in front of me as she twists at it to no avail; I can hear her growing breathless from both the effort and her own frustration.

“My lady, I must _insist_ that you heed me for your own safety, and—”

The doorknob stops shaking as I put my own hand over my side of it. I dare not respond, of course, lest I make the situation worse — but the will to mentally exert my considerable influence on her is too strong to ignore. She has already been so patient, but I am neither finished nor in any condition to manage her outbursts. The longer I take with my letter, the less inclined she will be to take Malkin’s diversions at face value, but I can’t help that right now.

_Please, Zee. Trust him, will you? I’ll see you later, I promise. I keep my promises, don’t I? I said I’d take care of you, all those years ago, and I have done that to the best of my ability, But even if I had it in me to spend the rest of my life praying for a miraculous recovery that I know won’t come, I’m the Warrior of LIght now. If I don’t go and fight, then everyone in Eorzea will suffer._

_Master Hughes was wrong about many things when he died, but he was right about what it means to protect this world. What would you say if I stayed with you, only to let another Calamity destroy_ more _lives? I know you would understand, if only—_

“ _Safe_ , huh? You think… I’ll be… _safe_ if I come with you, _Malkin_?”

My heart sinks into my stomach. Her response may be more _coherent_ than the childish whining she employed a moment ago, but I can tell that she’s reaching a dangerous point of clarity. It is useless to tell her I am not here when she has already surmised the truth; denying it is only reminding her of what she knows — deep down, beneath the madness — that she cannot have.

I listen as the muffled sound of her voice addresses the door between us instead of turning to face Malkin. It doesn’t take much to imagine her face pressed up against the wood paneling as if she thinks she can see through it if she tries hard enough. Maybe she _can_ , for all I know. She’s done stranger things before.

“Yes, my lady. Perhaps some fresh air will—”

“You know there’s no such thing as _safe_ , don’t you? Never _was_ , and never _will_ be.”

Her pitch lowers to the bitter, exhausted mumble of a woman with enough summers behind her to _know_ her own words for truth, and I brace myself for the worst. Almost as if on cue, I hear her spin to face him and shout at the top of her lungs; the sound of a knife being drawn is unremarkable to me now, except when I know that it is coming from _her_.

“I _counted_ them, Malkin! I _counted_ the _bodies_! One, two, three, four! He closed their eyes when he found them, my Raph’ir. He was _there_. And now… he is _not_. So _why_ do I still _smell_ him?!”

_She… still remembers that? Twelve damn it. I should have shielded her! She was calmer than I was at the time, and it… scared me a little. I was so focused on trying to find survivors that I didn’t realize how much she was hurting. And by then it was too late. The healers did everything they could, but… the Calamity forced us all to see things we should never have had to. Maybe Master Hughes could have saved her if he’d lived… but I don’t know that he would have tried._

_Not that it matters. If anyone should have kept her safe, it was me. Was it not enough for me to fail her in her hour of need? Must I fail her again every time I visit, too?_

“Zevah Noha. You will _hurt_ someone with that. Do you understand? Put it down. Please. There is no need for us to quarrel. If you will permit me to find the key, I will—”

Malkin’s desperation is evident from his use of her full name. He knows well that he gave _me_ the study key, so this ploy is meant to bore her into compliance while she waits for him. There are things that I can do to aid in his subterfuge; unlocking the door in secret and hiding behind it so that I’m nowhere to be found when she opens it, for one. But she knows my tricks intimately; she taught me so many of them herself, and I know she will use them against me. The only way to preserve the illusion of safety that she needs, paradoxically, is to tell her the truth.

And so I lift the heavy bar sealing the study door from my side. It only takes a moment to slide the key I took from Malkin into the lock.

Of course, she hears me; I expect no less. The clank of her knife hitting the floor is an immediate relief, even if the sound of her twisting the doorknob with reckless abandon is not. I have mere seconds to step back from the door before it swings open in my face. The sweaty, disheveled Keeper before me rakes one shaking hand through the dyed strands of her petal-pink hair while using the other to point an accusatory finger at me. Her dress is as wrinkled and unkempt as I know her mind to be on the inside, but her dark eyes still shine with life.

Everything about her screams danger — except for the angelic smile on her face that is completely at odds with the words she aims for my heart.

“I knew it, you liar! You’ve been reading _without_ me, haven’t you? I was so _lonely_! Malkin thought he could fool me, but I _know_ better. I can _smell_ you. Did you really think, after so many years, that I’d forget? You’re so _mean_ , Raph’ir! Mean, mean, _mean_!”

The regularity of my visits has been a source of confusion for her since the Calamity; _time_ is little more than an irritating construct meant to thwart her desires when she is lost in her delusions. With that in mind, Malkin and I once agreed between us that it was easiest to paint my comings and goings as pleasant surprises, rather than let their planned nature speak to the clear signs of the life I now live without her. I dare not correct her assumption.

It is cruel, of course, to pretend that I’ve deceived her — but right now, so close to the brink, she cannot handle the reality of knowing that I will soon leave her again. In her mind, I have returned home from some simple household errand, and this moment marks the final end of our separation. Her idea of where I will go when I “leave” is yet limited to a trip to the marketplace or the latrine. For now, at least, I will play the role of the man she wants me to be.

She throws herself at me, and for a moment, I step into the shoes of the fifteen-year-old boy I have spent the morning remembering. Her hands are filled with the back of my jacket, which means I can trust her — for now. I pull her close and return her smile with my own, angling my head upward to avoid her sloppy attempts at stealing kisses that I am not at liberty to give. Fortunately, stroking her hair is enough to mollify her enough for me to speak.

“S-Sorry, Zee. I thought it would be fun to surprise you, but you figured me out too fast. Don’t yell at Malkin, all right? I asked him to keep the secret for me. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Look, I even brought you a present. It’s not as pretty as you are, though.”

It takes some time to convince her to let go of me, but I take her hands in mine and allow her to pull off the slender, unadorned copper ring I’m wearing on my middle finger. For a mercy, the childlike pleasure she takes in things when she’s not upset makes her easy enough to distract with simple tools. It won’t be the first time I’ve lost such a thing to her demands — which is why I appreciate how easy it is to shape _another_ out of a stray bit of ingot at home. She never remembers the ones that came before; in her eyes, each one is a rare and special delight.

“Hmph. Buying me off with Daddy’s clever trinkets, is that it? You’re _still_ mean, Raph’ir. But I love you anyway. Just don’t _leave_ this time. I’ll _know_ if you do. It’s too quiet without you.”

Her words are dangerously close to the truth, given her mental state. I make the mistake of glancing down at her, worried that the jig is up — but all I find are her wide, deep, expressive eyes peering into my soul, veiled with the thick, dark eyelashes I’ve always loved. Her earlier madness seems forgotten; she’s contained and content within the spitfire of a woman she remembers being ten years ago. As far as she’s concerned, all is _right_ now.

 _But we’re not kids anymore. This is_ my _house now, not Master Hughes’. The moon really_ did _fall from the sky. The world around us changed forever. And all of Eorzea waits with bated breath for me. How does she forget so quickly? She was threatening Malkin about it five minutes ago. I guess… maybe she_ wanted _to forget. Or I got damned lucky. Master Hughes_ did _say that human minds were fragile things. Emiko-_ sensei _just never let me believe it, somehow._

I hold Zee’s gaze with mine, letting my false smile reach my eyes, as Malkin slips behind her to confiscate the knife she dropped. There are always more, of course, hidden in places that neither of us manage to find until too late — but it is still a relief to see one more removed from circulation. As he makes his silent way down the stairs armed with his prize, I note the sharp angle of his ears and the tension in his body; he isn’t inclined to trust his good fortune.

Neither am I. But keeping her where I can see her will be best for everyone involved, even if it means my letter goes unfinished for the rest of the afternoon. I watch her as she tries to fit my ring on her thumb; it’s too big for any of her delicate fingers, though she doesn’t care at all.

“Raph’ir. Will you tell me a story? I want to stay here and read with you. There’s no show tonight, so… maybe we can have dinner together, too. Just you and me. And then—”

Her innocent smile turns suggestive, and I have to grab her wandering hand before she manages to make contact with anything that both of us will regret. Even in the few scattered moments when she most sounds like the woman I fell in love with, I know she lacks the mental capacity to consent fully to her own requests, whatever her mind and body may tell her. Speaking of the stage in present tense is proof of the fact that she’s not living in reality. How many years has it been since we shared _that_?

The stage I am on now is far larger than the one she remembers. Bringing smiles to twenty ordinary people at every bell between six and ten in the evening, once upon a time, has naught to do with the needs of a world in crisis. But to remind her of _that_ will break what remains of her heart, and I can’t bring myself to do it so soon after hearing her speak of the torment she endured during the Calamity, even if it is inevitable. The woman that once brought smiles to the world needs one of her own this afternoon, and I will do what I must to provide it.

“Easy there, lovely. One thing at a time, all right? Let’s start with that story. C’mon.”

She lets me drag her by the hand over to Master Hughes’ favorite plush armchair. Before long, we are snuggled up together with her in my lap, her head on my shoulder and her eyes closed as she waits for me to begin. She hasn’t given me a chance to pick out a book, so I have no choice but to invent my own story to tell her; my mind is heavy and slow between the weight of fencing wits with her unpredictable mood and the letter I’ve been writing for Lili. It’s hard to think of something bright and cheerful enough to keep her from deteriorating further.

But in the end, I manage well enough — or so I hope. Anything else is likely to result in the discovery of further knives at best, and it still takes me far too long to raise my rapier against her, even when I have to for her own sake. One of these days, she’ll land a lucky blow. I find myself wondering if Hydaelyn ever planned for _that_ eventuality when She chose me.

“Once upon a time, there was a little Miqo’te girl that _loved_ flowers. She lived in a big mansion all by herself, except for her kind butler that always helped her whenever she needed it. But one day, she was lonely, and so she wandered out to the garden for some fresh air. She was surprised to find the flowers dancing in the breeze. When she joined their party, the prettiest purple flower in the garden told her she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. From that day on, she’d go outside to talk to the flower and tell him about her day. And then…”

My attempt to play up Malkin’s role as her kindly caretaker is crass; encouraging her delusions ought to be _criminal_. And yet I know that I _need_ to take every opportunity to remind her that I am no longer a permanent part of this household in ways that don’t terrify her. She _has_ to find ways to cope with her new reality, even if it is clear that she’ll never be able to face the full truth of what happened to her. A purple flower in the garden won’t be able to hold her and read her stories the way that I do — but it might be able to listen to her troubles when I am not around.

She needs more of the human interaction she had _before_ the Calamity to keep her sane — but finding those who can smile as she screams, or nod as she draws steel on them, is a task more daunting than finding a lasting peace for Eorzea. Until then… there is Malkin, and my regular visits, and the slim hope of recovery that the healers have long since stopped mentioning.

She looks almost asleep against my chest, but her thin, ratty tail with its characteristic puff of fur at the end is swaying back and forth eagerly; I can tell she’s still hanging on my every word. I keep doing my best to fabricate cheerful nonsense as my eyes wander over to my half-written letter, laying forgotten and dormant on the desk I left behind in order to placate her needs.

_Master Hughes always said that she would ruin my life. Maybe he was right, for all I know. But even now that she’s little more than an overgrown child, I regret nothing beyond the way it all ended. She was, and is, something special. Even though she’s broken… look at all the fight still left in her. She’s trying to protect what she loves most, in her own way. That’s what drew me to her first, back when we met — the way she never gives up, no matter the odds._

_Well… that and_ other _things, but I dare not dwell on_ that _. Whatever her mind may be now, there’s a beautiful lady in my lap, and I’m certain she’ll take anything untoward as an invitation._

_Deep breaths, Sahra._

I focus as hard as I can on talking flowers and little girls, letting my mind wander through the dream that I’m spinning for her. However difficult it may be for me, it is _thrice_ as much for her — and in the end, I know that I will not succeed in _forgetting_ any more than she has.

* * *

“Well, aren’t _you_ all grown up today? Like a regular _prince_ , you are!”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot under the onslaught of the bookseller’s effusive praise, trying not to blush and clutching what was soon to be my personal copy of Book Twelve — the latest, and _penultimate_ — Teller’s Tales publication. The writer, it seemed, had reached both retirement age and the end of the story she’d set out to tell in unison.

The snows in Vylbrand had been quick to thaw that year, bringing the spring flowers and Master Hughes’ wanderlust to an early start. The sense of rapid change in the world around me had lasted well into the first half of the third astral moon. With my general education nearing its completion, Emiko- _sensei_ had requested time to handle her own affairs in lieu of babysitting my entry into the official world of estate management. That left me well and truly the _master of the house_ for the first time ever — with all the accompanying work befitting my new station.

My lessons in swordplay and Master Hughes’ personal brand of elegant _machismo_ continued through a combination of raw, repetitive practice, textbooks, and the written instructions he’d left me to fill in the gaps between them. Whether I was minding his estate or standing in for him during less _interesting_ subjects at home made little difference in his expectations. To make matters worse, with my sixteenth nameday arriving in less than two moons, he’d taken the opportunity to begin a process he called “making the outsides match the insides.”

A week of standing in my smallclothes as he measured every ilm of my changing body and muttered to himself had not convinced me of its importance, though I had to admit that the end result _was_ impressive. If clothes _truly_ made the man — as he claimed — then perhaps I was closer to that goal than either of us had thought when I first picked up his old rapier. The bookseller was the fifth person to raise the subject since I’d stepped outside a bell ago, and I hadn’t even needed Emiko- _sensei_ ’s help with the traditional buttons and buckles this time.

The ink-blue jacket with gold and black trim I’d chosen that morning brought out my eyes, or so she’d said, and that was good enough for me. I’d thought so too — but I hadn’t counted on Master Hughes’ unspoken preference for basic black when it came to _gentlemanly_ attire.

“Thank you, ma’am. I… um… picked the jacket up from the tailor yesterday, as it happens. Master Hughes put a lot of work into making sure the fit was correct. May I tell him that you approve? He seemed a bit uncertain of my decision when he bought it.”

The bookseller leaned forward onto the desk between us, her chin in one hand and a lopsided smile on her face, looking for all the world as if she’d fallen asleep and lost herself in a dream. Behind me, I was dimly aware of a sixth customer joining her growing line.

“Of course. But don’t sell yourself short, honey. You’ve come a long way, and the hard work’s plain for all to see, even for that old man of yours, I’ll wager. Ah, to be young and beautiful again… but I suppose I ought to check you out. The ladies will be waiting, I presume. ‘Twould be impolite of me to sow chaos across Eorzea by keeping you for myself.”

I handed her the book and the requisite gil from my pocket with one hand while raking the other through my freshly-clipped hair, uncertain of how to respond. To my surprise, Master Hughes had left it shoulder-length; only the bits that had started to trail past my neck had offended his senses. It was well that they had — the high-collared coats, crisp shirts, and button-up jackets he’d ordered for me would have clashed with anything longer.

“Y-Yes, ma’am. Though there aren’t any ladies waiting. I’m standing in for Master Hughes at a social engagement this afternoon. He has important figures to crunch today, and he… was hoping I might provide a friendlier presence there. I am the only _proxy_ attendee though, so I suspect I’ll be dancing with the grown-ups or reading as usual. That’s why I’m here.”

“Hmph.” The bookseller waved her quill at me over her ledger with a rueful smile. “Trying to keep you out of harm’s way, is he? Mayhap he should have thought of that _before_ he put you to learning the sword. You truly have _filled out_ , you know. Or does he mean to find you a match himself? A bit uncommon in this day and age, I suppose, _and_ unfair to the lucky lady he chooses, even if I suspect she’ll be pleased enough with the arrangement in the end.”

I didn’t even notice my hand had wandered over to the hilt of my rapier until _after_ she’d spoken. Master Hughes had never said _anything_ about the possibility of an arranged marriage! And yet, I _was_ the adopted son of a notable family, even if my role largely remained that of a servant. My mind and heart drifted back to my memories of Delphine — a kept bird in a tarnished silver cage — and I could feel my blood start to curdle in my veins. Would her fate be mine as well?

Laughter cut into my panicked thoughts.

“Oh _Twelve_ , the _look_ on your poor _face_! Forgive me, my dear. Your old man is too strict for his own good, ‘tis true, but I think he trusts you more than that. He always has kind words for you when he’s here alone. Anyroad, it’s improper of me to hound you so. I’m simply not getting any younger, and it would do my heart good to see you become the hero you’ve always dreamed of. I have _every_ faith you’ll set this world on fire, once you become your _own_ man.”

Her words only served to ease _some_ of the uncertainty she’d exposed, but I gave her my best smile and a crisp nod, as Master Hughes had taught me. The terms of my adoption had been crystal clear; if I had been the _true_ heir to his name and fortune, I might have needed to worry about that hypothetical _someday_. As it stood, he’d chosen me with the intent of molding me into a manservant capable of meeting his needs until the day he died. Deep in the throes of his myriad lessons, it felt as if I would be his age _myself_ before that day ever came.

Ever since Berke, the stability that Master Hughes afforded me had meant far more than my dreams; keeping the Sahra name _alive_ had meant far more than the specifics of the future I would write with it. He and Emiko- _sensei_ had allowed me to indulge my own interests, but the only acquaintances my age that I’d made over the years had little patience for my imposing schedule and constant need to keep an eye on things at home. Many ladies had looked my way, but all of them had politely excused themselves when told that I’d have to be home before dark.

In the absence of the flourishing network of friends and confidants that I’d hoped for, what mattered most in my mind were my duties to Master Hughes and Emiko- _sensei_. Anything else would put an end to all that I’d worked so very hard to protect.

Being a hero from the pages of the Teller’s Tales was fun enough to read about, and to imagine… but that dream was for boys that grew up in caves, not manservants. Master Hughes had said it so many times that I’d started to half believe him; my constant exhaustion had served to whittle away most of the rest of my wishful thinking. Perhaps I’d once thought my star would rise… but fate had passed me by when it handed out magic swords and courageous friends. It blessed me with a chance to serve honorably and well until the end of my days instead.

How could I complain, knowing all that he’d done for me?

 _He_ still _thinks you’re some feral animal that the Twelve have blessed with unnatural intellect. He never takes you with him on trips anymore. He has his_ own _adventures, while_ you _handle all the boring busywork that he hates. He taught you about the world, but you’ll never see it with your own eyes. What of your_ own _birthright? You could roam free like the wind, unencumbered by the weight of uniforms and armor; of duties and customs meant to tie you down to a single way of life. But no. You’re his pretty little_ puppet _, dancing to his tune._

_Face it. You’re no better off than you were with—_

The sound of rustling paper interrupted the dangerous flow of my thoughts as the bookseller slid my neatly-wrapped copy of Book Twelve across her desk. How she managed to keep the corners tucked without adhesive was a mystery I longed to someday learn for myself.

“Cat got your tongue? Just kidding, love. Here’s your prize for humoring me. Have a wonderful day! And please let Master Hughes know what a good job he’s doing. I _insist_.”

“T-Thanks, ma’am. A good day to you as well. I’ll be going now.”

I was in such a rush to bow and leave the bookstore that I came within ilms of crashing into the last person in line — ignoring the sidelong, impatient glares of the rest. Only once I was outside did I realize my hands were shaking in an effort to maintain the death grip I had on my book.

Taking a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and letting it back out slowly — Emiko- _sensei_ ’s favorite trick for relaxing an overwrought mind — only helped so much. If she’d been there, she would have given me a pat on the shoulder or ruffled my hair to comfort me — but she _wasn’t_ , and I felt her absence more keenly than ever in that moment. What I needed most, I suspected, was a hug, but those had long since stopped out of respect for my age and nighttime _habits_.

Every moment I spent struggling to regain my composure was a moment that I was failing my master and father. I knew that as well as I knew my own name. Hyper-aware of my shameful lack of control, I made my way down the residential streets of the city, trying to focus on my surroundings. Stopping to rest too close to the bookstore itself would ensure that I’d be noticed and recognized, and I didn’t want any further attention on me in such a state. I _needed_ to compose myself before the party; tear stains on silk were always a topic of _heated_ discussion.

And so it was that I found myself ducking — unwisely — down a tree-shaded forest path almost half a malm from the bookstore and the rest of civilization, decked out in my fanciest attire and wearing a facade of grand importance that anyone might mistake for the absolute truth. On some level, I was aware of the error. Mama hadn’t raised a fool, nor had Master Hughes or Emiko- _sensei_. But in the moment, my desperation made me overconfident. I was convinced that I could handle any threats that came my way with my rapier — as long as I didn’t have to _talk_.

Of course, it was at _that_ moment that I discovered an actual goddess among the trees to the side of the path, straight from the pages of the Teller’s Tales I’d tucked away under my arm.

Her long, pink-tipped, ash-blonde hair fell to the middle of her waist, flowing around her like a silken curtain in the spring breeze. She was shorter than me by an ilm or two, but the height of her matching Miqo’te ears made up the difference between us. Her back was angled toward me, which was unlucky on my part; she had enough time to detect my approach and wrap her slender, tufted tail around her legs, masking the most private area of her otherwise naked body. The rest didn’t seem to bother _her_ in the slightest, though it demanded _my_ full attention.

“Oh, _my_. It seems I’ve been caught red-handed. This won’t do at _all_.”

Her voice, when she spoke, set every ilm of my foolish teenage body on fire without even seeming to try. It was soft and flirtatious and perfectly _calculated_ — the quiet confidence of a woman gifted in exploiting any situation to her advantage, though I didn’t know that at the time. I stood there gawking as she turned to face me in what felt like glorious slow-motion; the sight before me defied anything ever depicted in any of Master Hughes’ anatomy textbooks. My own eager imagination could not have supplied better, if it had somehow dared to try.

“Heh. Eyes up _here_ , naughty nanka. I’d have thought a boy like you could pay for seats, at least. Daddy will notice if you spend too much without having _somewhere_ to be, y’know.”

I blinked at her, doing my best to comply; only her beautiful, self-satisfied smirk afforded me the ability to succeed. For a mercy, her words made no sense, which distracted me from the rising discomfort in my brand-new, tightly-fitted trousers.

“Um. B-Begging your pardon, m-ma’am. I didn’t mean to stare, I was just… looking for a place to be… alone. I… don’t know anything about seats. And I already spent my allowance… on…”

Suddenly, telling a goddess like _her_ that I’d spent it on new fishing gear, Miq’abobs, and several stylish outfits that Master Hughes had deemed “inappropriate” for a “man of my stature” seemed so juvenile that it hurt. What was I _thinking_? I might have _looked_ like the son of a wealthy man, but inside? I was nothing more than a paissa pretending to be a dragon; a boy about to go to a party in the stead of his betters as a _distraction_ , not a worthy peer. I bit my lip and stared down at my feet, unwilling to invade her ears further with my idiocy.

Before I heard her move, she was close enough to touch, gripping my chin with two fingers and pulling it upward, forcing me to meet her gaze. At close range, her warmth, the musky, exotic perfume she wore, and the scent of something far more primal on her skin were almost too overwhelming for me to focus on what she said. Her wide, expressive eyes narrowed, leaving me convinced that I’d somehow committed a careless crime on top of being foolish.

“No. I won’t have it. I’m nowhere _near_ old enough to be _ma’am_ to the likes of _you_. I might be a _little_ older, but we’re close enough, unless I’ve missed my guess entirely. _That_ would be a first. And _how_ can it be that you’ve never heard of the lovely Lady Zee?! They call me Lady Zevahna on the stage, but… my fans know better than to trifle with _that_ mouthful.”

From her astounding curves and remarkable poise, I’d assumed I was dealing with a woman several _years_ my senior! The new information did little to erase the keen understanding that my hands were far too close to her exposed body for comfort. Though it went against everything I’d ever wanted in my life, I shoved them into my pockets for safekeeping.

“S-Sorry, but no. I… um… I wish I had, honest. Are you an actress? A singer, maybe? Master Hughes doesn’t have time for things like that. Maybe if I save up next month, though—”

She chuckled under her breath, letting go of my chin with a melodramatic sigh and a disappointed shake of her head. “Master, huh? I see now. From the way all those buttons shine, I mistook you for one of the nobles’ heirs trying to buy my company for the night. Their excuses get more entertaining every day. The last one actually tried to claim he fell off a cliff for the entire bell it took him to learn the word ‘no.’ Showed up back home without a scratch on him. His father beat him bloody, of course. He really should have known better.”

For a fraction of a moment, I found myself very, _very_ glad I’d fallen in with Master Hughes instead. Whatever injuries his words and deeds had left upon me, he’d never raised a hand the way Berke had. Had Delphine once suffered such indignity before her family’s fall from grace? But Lady Zee was still talking, and it seemed only prudent to pay attention.

“Anyway, you and your master _wound_ me, sir. But I’ll forgive _you_ , at least. Most boys would have tried to take liberties by now, and… well, you might say that I have ways of making naughty boys _and_ all the gil in their pockets _disappear_.”

And then it dawned on me. My pockets were empty aside from my hands.

I opened my mouth to object, but she was far faster. She placed two of her delicate fingers over my lips while cuddling in close to my chest and laying her head over my heart like a healer in search of my pulse rate. I didn’t want to tell her that pressing her bare chest against me would escalate it to a level worthy of medical concern; she didn’t seem to need the warning.

“Shhh. Poor thing. Let me repay your kindness with my own. It’d be a shame to see those sad eyes of yours even sadder, if you ask me. Surely there’s a smile in here _somewhere_? Give me _that_ , and I’ll give _you_ back aaaaall your gil. I’ll even ignore what you’ve got in that _other_ pocket.”

 _Twelve damn it. Get a_ grip _, Sahra! Master Hughes made it very clear that he’d kill you for bedding a woman. She’s warm, and beautiful, and naked, and close… but you’re not thinking straight. You have work to do. You’re going to be_ late _if you don’t leave soon for the party, and that’ll go about as well for you as taking her here and now. And she didn’t offer_ that _anyway. She’s a pickpocket. She said she’d make you_ disappear _._

With that last thought firmly in mind, I harnessed every onze of Master Hughes’ endless lessons on manners and _forced_ the biggest, most genuine smile that I could muster.

At first, she didn’t bother to move, and I thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep against me — but when she lifted her head again to assess my face, her ears twitched with wry amusement, and I realized how foolish that hope had been.

“You… are a liar, sir. And a poor one, at that. Did you know? Anyone will, if they’ve a mind to. But I’ll grant you a passing grade for effort. Now, simply gaze into my eyes, and I shall make your dreams come true. My eyes are up _here_ , by the way. Did you need reminding?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am. I mean… um… Lady Zee—”

My mumbled gibberish behind her fingers only served to make her giggle, and she peeled herself away from me with a grin that could have set the forest on fire if it had wanted to. A flash of metal caught the edge of my peripheral vision; she’d been hiding a single gilcoin — mine, I assumed — between the fingers she’d used to silence me. A quick flick of her nails sent it flying into the air. As she stepped backward away from me, she let it flip and twist in full sight of both of us. We watched in unison as it fell to the dirt below.

I was the only one to be surprised, however, when the impact resulted in a series of cheerfully-colored sparks of light and sound, revealing the remainder of the gil she’d lifted from my pockets, scattered like confetti among the dirt and leaves. The coin she’d used to distract me sat in the perfect center of the pile, somehow looking pleased with itself.

 _How… did she…?! Oh. I get it now! She’s not a pickpocket. She’s a stage magician. Master Hughes always says such things are for simpletons and charlatans, but… seriously,_ how _did she_ do _that?! I was watching her the whole time! Was I_ really _so distracted that I didn’t notice her hands in my pockets? She_ couldn’t _have hidden anything anywhere,_ that’s _for_ damned _sure._

Standing there with my mouth agape was all the excuse Lady Zee needed to taunt me further. She crossed her arms underneath her ample breasts, somehow highlighting their nakedness far more than simply standing ever had; her tail twitched away from her body at long last, affording me a perfect view that would have undone all the hard work I’d put into my obedience if I’d dared to take it for myself. She knew it, too, judging from the smirk on her face.

“And there you have it! A private _preview_ of Lady Zevahna’s inimitable set. Consider it incentive to drag that _master_ of yours along for my next public engagement. _Milady of Magic_ runs every bell between six and ten in the evening. _Don’t_ forget. Seats tend to sell out _weeks_ in advance.”

Belatedly, I remembered that most patrons of the performing arts were expected to clap their hands to acknowledge stellar performance. My earnest, delayed applause did little to stop her laughter at its expense, though my words seemed to have more of an effect.

“I don’t know how you did that, but… um… it was really… something. I’ll come to your show. By myself, if I have to. I… um, that is… I’d love to see you again. L-Lady Zee.”

“I’ll _bet_ you would. And I presume you know that I hear that seventeen times every minute of every bell, sir. But when you say it so politely, I find myself wanting to believe it. How strange.”

She winked at me, and the impulse to smile honestly — despite the discomfort and fear that had led me into her clutches, and the charged _awkwardness_ of the entire situation — was overwhelming. Before I could say anything further, though, she turned away from me and stepped back into the cluster of trees where I’d first seen her. Upon closer inspection, I could see the folds of what had to be her discarded clothing in a pile near her feet.

Summers later, I would be embarrassed by how long it took me to wonder what she’d been doing before my arrival, out naked as her nameday amongst the foliage for all to see. My exposure to Berke’s proclivities had been too sudden and violent to teach me the scent of a willing woman’s desire; had I truly wanted her, I would have had the misfortune to be last in line behind _several_ men and women my elder in both age and maturity.

She gave me the truth of it later, in the afterglow of our first union — but I never noticed the footprints that signaled their exit in the dirt beneath me at the time.

In the absence of that recognition, she simply opted to struggle into her clothing instead — if it could be called _clothing_ at all. Her decorative smallclothes left her legs and most of her arse fully exposed, save for the six-ilm heels lifting her out of the dirt; her chest was tastefully framed by a detailed, snow-white corset while her arms and figure were draped in a sheer, veil-like jacket that reminded me of the fancy waistcoats that Master Hughes preferred.

The classic magician’s hat she rescued from behind a tree looked as if she’d worn it for most of her life; the crimson showman’s cane in her hands was expensive enough to have traded for every stitch of my new wardrobe with gil to spare. Fully dressed, every ilm of her screamed both _adolescent wet dream_ and _consummate professional_.

 _She…_ performs _in this?! Twelve have mercy. No_ wonder _she has so many fans! N-Not that she’s not talented enough without it. Or… is that why she does it in the first place? With so many eyes on her body, they’re not watching what her_ hands _are doing. I didn’t, anyway._

As it turned out, _that_ realization was far more important than the footprints I’d missed when it came to my growth and development as a man over the next few years. In the moment, though, it was fleeting and inconsequential compared to her incomparable beauty.

“I believe that concludes our deal, sir. My kindness for your smile, yes? Though I fear I’ve taken more than my fair share. It’s not every day I get to seduce one of my own kind _and_ practice my set at the same time. I’ve really outdone myself, haven’t I?”

“Heh. And here I thought _I_ was the lucky one.”

I said it to press my advantage, emboldened by the suggestion that she was _trying_ to seduce me — but as usual, it served to make her laugh instead. And just when I thought the utter _nonsense_ of the entire encounter could grow no thicker, she managed to surprise me again.

“You’ve a clever way with words, once you take your foot out of your mouth. Have you considered a career in stage magic, by any chance? We _do_ need more performers. If I had a gil for every drunken pirate I’ve had to turn away in Vylbrand, I could hire fifteen sober… or _one_ pretty assistant. With those eyes of yours, you’d certainly set the stage.”

 _S-She… thinks I’m… pretty? Wait, that’s not important right now! She must be joking. How could I ever be an assistant to someone like her? So many people, all staring at her, waiting on every move she makes… how does she do it? It’s hard enough to manage Master Hughes looking down at me all the time. And when he sees me… I’m just a feral stray. I don’t belong on a stage. I belong behind the scenes, making other people look good. But… I suppose that_ is _what assistants do. It’s just… don’t they_ also _get sawed in half sometimes? On stage?_

My face must have betrayed my inner turmoil; she simply grinned and shook her head against the pregnant pause, sparing me from the duty of answering.

“Oh dear. I’ve pushed the wrong button again. Don’t worry that little head of yours, blue-eyes. There’s no obligation, of course. But if you ever get tired of all those fussy duties of yours someday, come and find me. I’ll remember you. Vylbrand might, too.”

I knew all too well when I’d been dismissed from a room after so many years of serving Master Hughes. She was, at least, far kinder than he had ever been about the matter, and the fact that I was already running late served to lessen the blow. But in the time it took me to open my mouth to tell her in parting that I’d never wanted anything more, she disappeared — through _mortal_ means — into the trees, leaving me alone with the silence that I’d ached for when I first arrived.

In the wake of her absence, it felt wrong and unsettling; a strange void lingered in the space where I’d once felt so comfortable and alive. Only the lasting reminder of her presence in my mind and my loins managed to convince me that I hadn’t _dreamed_ the entire exchange.

_How irresponsible. And you claim you want to become a man, the way Master Hughes intends for you? If he knew what a fool he chose to raise, he’d turn you out on the streets, begging for scraps. Not only are you thinking with something other than your brain, you’re letting this woman put all sorts of pretty ideas in your head. Face reality. You’re a manservant, not an idiot. Be grateful he’s out of town right now. He won’t see what a laughingstock you’ve made of yourself._

_You’re also later than you realize. The sun’s already on its way down. Didn’t that party start at midday? There’s fashionably late, and then there’s entirely out of fashion. People will talk._

The harshness of my inner critic was brutal enough, but it was also right; I had no justification for wanting so badly to run away from everything that had saved me from Berke’s sadistic hands. The opportunities afforded me by Master Hughes would see me to a good life and a good future, worthy of what Mama and my lost siblings wanted for me. The things we disagreed on were many, and his countless judgments and expectations were so often tiring… but he needed me, and I needed him. Anything else was as much a fairy tale as the Teller’s Tales.

_This is stupid. I… need to focus. To be the man he wants me to be. I… can be logical and rational. I can lay this nonsense aside for the sake of my own future. I can work hard and learn fast, and someday all of these failures and imperfections will be embarrassing memories. I’ll be proud of everything I’ve accomplished. And… he’ll be proud of me, too. Even if I’m just his servant. I owe it to him, for all that he’s done for me. He… gave me his name, after all._

Much later, I would lie awake and ask myself why the idea hurt so Twelves-damned much despite my certainty that it was the right thing to do. But three things were most apparent as I stood there, regarding the sun and the passage of time.

I wasn’t going to make it to the party on time. Nobody would notice an extra five minutes except the old ladies that were eager to dance with me and stuff me with treats. And going _anywhere_ without relieving the agony that Lady Zee had left me in was utterly _impossible_.

The trees, for a mercy, provided excellent cover for _that_ , too.

* * *

“Hmph. Perhaps it is only conjecture, but if I were twenty summers younger, she _might_ be an onze more obedient. What fools time makes of us all.”

Malkin leans against the doorframe with a wry smirk, taking in the scene before him. Zee has long since drifted off in the middle of my half-hearted and saccharine story, which spares me the trouble of having to formally end it. Her greedy arms are wrapped around my neck and chest, clutching me like a Keeper-shaped pillow as she sleeps. I can only assume the gradual cessation of my voice in the stairwell has given Malkin cause for concern, hence his presence.

I keep my own voice level with his, lest I unleash her inner beast for the second time that day by waking her. “Such hubris suits you poorly, Malkin. A less _obedient_ lady you’d fail to find, in this summer or any other. She just used to _mean_ it when she was younger.”

His entrance, at least, serves to distract me from my unwelcome, inevitable, too-fond memories of days gone by. The recollection will be easy enough to relate to Lili — once I am _far_ removed from Zee’s grasp. But the sun has reached its apex since I first started spinning my yarn, and the road back to Limsa Lominsa is long. Taking too much longer risks a return journey draped in darkness; safe enough for _me_ , but an indecent suggestion for those who might wish me ill.

“If we are careful, perhaps you could hand her off to me.” Malkin expertly navigates the logical pathways that my wandering eyes traverse between Zee, the desk, and the door. It is a good thing that I have never needed to use the time-honored art of _misdirection_ against _him_. “Her arms are quite the predicament, though. Prying her loose might—”

“No need. Get the key for my old room and unlock it, would you? If it’s my scent she’s fixated on, I was in there last night. It’ll help ease the transition, at least. I’ll take her myself.”

I focus on her sleeping, innocent face and find myself smiling despite the sinking feeling beneath my skin and bones. It will be no easy thing to escort her upstairs and into my former bed without waking her, let alone arousing her endless hunger for me — but it is something of an honor to know that even my _worst_ attempts at easing her mind still carry weight. It won’t stop her from turning on me at the slightest misstep, of course. But for now, it is _enough_.

“Very good, sir.”

Malkin offers me a crisp bow and obeys the order, though I can tell he dislikes my odds. I hear him take three hesitant steps out into the hallway before loosening his key ring from his belt and jangling his way back up the stairs. I take the opportunity to brush my lips against Zee’s forehead, encouraging the dream I know she is having after so many years of waking up beside her. For now, the duty falls to _me_ to keep weaving it for and around her.

“It’s late, lovely. Not that you need it, but… all that beauty sleep does Eorzea good, if I do say so myself. And I _do_. How about we go upstairs and find ourselves somewhere private?”

It isn’t even a bald-faced lie, under careful examination. Her beauty sleep _does_ still do Eorzea good — if only by allowing me the freedom to address its needs. 

She murmurs something that sounds like agreement as I lift her into my arms and stand with difficulty, doing my best not to dislodge her grasp. Her meager weight is far from the issue; when she chooses to trust, she does so with all her heart and body. It makes the task of carrying her more suited to a pallbearer than a gentleman. And that thought, of course, brings to mind her earlier recollection of the Calamity — and my own role in its aftermath.

_I never even knew their names, apart from Master Hughes. The bookseller had less than a month in retirement before the news of her ex-husband came down from Carteneau. He was all she had, regrets be damned. The lady selling Miq’abobs… her last batch was still warm in the dirt when we got there. The tailor never thought twice about which fabrics were flammable until the riots started. The panic and chaos overwhelmed any hope of a plan in the moment. Zee didn’t know them the way I did, but she knew them through me. That… was enough._

_They all deserved better. And now, they are nothing but memories in the pages of my own history. It’s all so very_ wrong _. Is everyone that ever showed me kindness destined to break? Even now that I’m the biggest hero in Eorzea, it’s never enough to stem the tide. The world is always one step away from disaster. Every nightmare I halt brings peace for a fleeting moment, only to spin out of control again. Every path to victory is paved with the bodies and the hearts of those that I love and care for. Why did I ever think it would be different?_

But I’m getting ahead of myself when it comes to Lili’s story. If I wanted to bring smiles to the damned, I should have stayed on the stage. It is _far_ too late for regrets. I know they’re all waiting on me now. Just like Zee. Just like that bloody _Seeker_ —

“You… are the worst liar _ever_ , you know.”

Zee’s mumbled words are part of her dream, but they pull me away from the brink of disaster. As I make my way up the stairs after Malkin, the irony of them hits me in a darkly funny place, and I give her a grim laugh that I know she’ll never hear in response.

 _I_ used _to be, when I first met you. But now? I’m the finest liar you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting, my dear. All it takes is a smile and a nod, and nobody suspects you’re dying on the inside. Nobody thinks you’re saving the world by the seat of your breeches. You just put one foot in front of the other, time after time, in service to the future. They’ll believe you when you say that’s enough. And when it’s not… you are the first in line to make sure that hope stays alive. Anything else, and it all falls apart. You know that, don’t you? Tell me you know that._

_But oh… the things I’ve seen. I wish I could show them to you, Zee. The stars in the Goblet at night. The glowing flora of the Sylphlands. The way the lamps light up the dusk as evening falls in Ishgard. The Gubal library, filled to the brim with stories we’d never have the time to read, even if both of us had the rest of our lives to spend trying. The Crystal Tower, rising above Mor Dhona like it’s reaching for the sun between the clouds. So beautiful._

The thought brings a slow smile to my face at first, but it is impossible to maintain; my stubborn mind is still too fixated on the man inside the Tower to forgive his association with it. How is it possible for so many little things about him to get under my skin so _quickly_? And yet, recalling the day I first met Zee reminds me how easy it is for some people to leave a lasting impression, whether they mean to or not. To hear her tell it, I am the same… but in the end, it does little to ensure that others remain in my life the way that I pray they will.

“You… would have liked him, I think. He was as bad a liar as I was. Maybe it’s just as well you never met him. What would I have done with myself if you’d chosen him instead?”

It is a rhetorical question, of course, posed to a sleeping woman — but her lack of an answer still comes as a mercy I do not expect in light of the day’s complications.

The motion of Malkin’s disappearance into the shadows at the edge of my vision distracts me again as I step inside the familiar confines of my childhood bedroom, left open as requested. The best method of lowering Zee into the rumpled nest of sheets I failed to address in my morning stupor requires me to climb halfway in after her, so I commit myself to the flow of necessity and join her in full, feeling something small and fragile break inside me as I do.

As I had hoped, she is content enough to snuggle into my chest and smile, letting me pull my old blanket over the both of us without incident. In my melancholy, I take it for the miracle that it appears to be on the surface. But like the liar that we both know I am, I have already been rehearsing the many ways I might encourage her to relax her grip enough for me to escape. Anything sexual is out of the question, though it would all but guarantee my success; I cannot bring myself to exploit such a thing, knowing how she feels about me.

And yet, every moment that I stay reminds me of that fated afternoon in the shade and our first meeting. That day served as my introduction to a world in which I would find the means to balance my true nature with Master Hughes’ expectations of me, redeeming some of the harshest lessons I learned in the Bending Birch and putting them to good use. If not for her, I might never have learned to _tell_ my father one thing while _doing_ another; I might never have found the will to seize what was left to me of my dreams, even at great cost to myself.

Her disobedience remains a beacon of hope, even now that I have become a dutiful servant to the _world_ instead of a single man. And that disobedience is what I must use against her tonight.

I open my mouth to tell her that Bory — or rather, Bory _thgar_ , the eccentric Hrothgar of ill repute that used to serve as Milady of Magic’s infamous emcee — has called for her. The number of times I have listened to her pout and whine and _push me away_ instead of letting me coax her into showing up for his extra rehearsals is beyond counting.

But as usual, she is one step ahead before I even realize I’ve failed.

“Fifty. It’s the fiftieth one today, isn’t it? Every time it’s the same. One for each visit, after you learned to make them pretty. You never forget. I kept them all, y’know.”

She moves with the speed and grace she once had while I’m distracted by her words. It takes embarrassingly little effort for her to overpower me; I am still too slow to recognize the transition between playfulness and danger in her actions. Malkin’s shadow fills the hallway in the distance as she climbs on top of me, her legs straddling my hips. Her hands find their way gently around my neck; the tips of her fangs poke out from her upper lip as she smiles down at me.

Unlike me, _she_ has no qualms about using her love as a weapon. It is just as well that she still bears the ring in question on her thumb; the pressure against my neck keeps me grounded in reality. She may be _closer_ in this moment of rare lucidity to the woman I knew, but that is _all_.

 _Easy, Malkin. If she wanted to kill me, she’d be holding a knife. She’s lucid enough to understand the ring, so I don’t think she’ll get violent. The rest… just avert your eyes. It wasn’t_ always _this ugly. For three summers, I was the luckiest man in Eorzea._

“That’s right, Zee. Fifty. I wasn’t sure you’d remember the others. Did you want me to bring you something else? I’ve been to lots of different places since we last talked. There’s a city called Ishgard where they make really good tea every morning and afternoon. I bet you’d like that.”

I try to find a suitable balance between addressing the intelligent woman of twenty-nine summers that she still is, and wounding the lonely child that she becomes. Lies may serve everyone best when her wits are wandering, but she deserves the truth if and when she’s able to receive it. Unfortunately for me, the expression on her face is far harder to read than the raw anger and grief that often heralds the _change_ between the two.

She studies me like a caught mouse beneath her paws, but there is something sad and gentle behind her wicked smile; a silent plea for succor that I already know I can’t answer.

“It’s not fair. You _always_ leave. Stay with me, Raph’ir. _That’s_ what I want.”

I swallow hard beneath her hands. This particular truth is harder than most to share, with her or anyone else. How can I look into her eyes and tell her that it isn’t _just_ for the sake of fair Eorzea and a brighter future that I wear the mantle of Warrior of Light? The opportunity to explore lost and distant horizons instead of consigning myself to my father’s house as a pretty playmate for a lost soul is too precious to forgo, even if it _is_ what I deserve for allowing her to suffer. I have every faith that she would feel the same if our roles were reversed.

Perhaps I once had dreams of living with her as man and wife — just like this — making our way through the world together, one slow day at a time. It could, and would, have been a life worth living. But that was before the Calamity used my hands to make her a fragile shell of who she used to be. Before Hydaelyn asked me to put Eorzea’s needs before my own or Zee’s.

_Before I understood that we’re both already wedded to circumstance. Let’s not play the odds on whether I’ll meet my maker soonest through your madness or Hers. I made the choice to accept reality and move on, though it was never an easy one. If you had anywhere else to go, or anyone else to turn to, I’d let you forget all about me. But the only way I can show you what you mean to me now is to use this bloody fortune of mine to give you what peace that Malkin and I can provide. I can still love you… if not in the way that we both hoped._

I look up into her eyes, hating myself as I do.

“I know, Zee. We used to talk about bringing smiles to the world together, right? This isn’t how I thought it would happen, but I’m still doing everything I can to realize that dream. And you’re staying with Malkin so that you have a chance to do the same, someday. What happened to _us_ isn’t fair, either. But if I stay here, ignoring the power that I have to help change things, then nothing will get better for anyone. I wish I could take you with me, but—”

“Yeah. I’m too sick. When you’re here, it’s easier to forget.”

Her agreement is painful in its honesty, but the fact that she understands what I’m saying is a small comfort in the darkness. There is yet a small part of me that still wonders if I made the right decision in leaving — but lying to her for every day of the rest of my life, pretending that she’s healthy and sane and safe enough to be my wife, is a future I refuse to face. Entertaining the dream once every month is already too much for me to bear.

“You smell different, by the way. Cheap ale. Tavern floors. Weren’t you bedding some pretty boy the last time we talked? You could have invited me. He sounds fun.”

I find the strength to reach up and stroke her hair, still focused on the battle of wits in front of me. Her tone suggests that she _does_ remember my telling her about Aymeric during one of our last serious conversations, albeit in extremely broad terms and without the use of his name. However, it’s unclear whether she remembers that inviting _her_ to such an event is well outside the realm of possibility _now_. How much of her mind is in the present, as opposed to the halcyon days of hedonistic joy we shared together before the Calamity?

She definitely has _no_ knowledge of the long, sleepless, ale-fueled nights that so often attend me between my visits. I have spared her the darkest of my journeys as a Warrior of Light. Adding the weight of my reality to hers is something I cannot bear to ask of her.

“Yeah. He is. I was. And I still am. But he wants to keep it secret, so that leaves me a lot of restless nights alone. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m asleep until it’s too late.”

That, too, isn’t a lie — even if I neglect to tell her the reasons behind it. How many dear friends have I lost over the last summer? How many of my journeys and memories have ended in tragedy? From the way my mind keeps traveling back to the Crystal Tower, I know that tonight will be no different without Aymeric to occupy my attention.

Suddenly, I can feel Zee’s warmth pressing against me; she leans down with her hands still around my neck and kisses me with all the tenderness she can manage. Her lips are as soft as they were when we first met, but everything in me freezes beneath her.

“You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be, y’know. I can take care of you when he’s not around. I haven’t forgotten, Raph’ir. The way you can never get enough of my—”

“Zee… please. I can’t. You _know_ I can’t. I… don’t want to hurt you, but… I’m sorry.”

Her face falls before I can try to soften the blow.

“I know. _You_ haven’t changed. Always so damned _respectful_. But… I had to try.”

_I loved you too much not to be. Still do, even now. I believe you when you say you want me, but… will it be the same in five minutes? Will you remember, in the morning, that the Scions have need of me? Will you let me go with a smile? Or will I find a knife in my back instead? I have to protect myself, and you, now. I just… wish I didn’t have to remind you every time._

The painful silence between us grows as she finally loosens her grip on my neck and lifts herself off of me, laying back down in the space between me and the wall that I left her in. Her back is to me, which is a bad sign; she’s curled up in an almost fetal position, trying to simultaneously comfort herself and shut out the world at the same time. My initial instinct is to flee while she’s willing to afford me the chance, but I’ve hurt her and I know it. It seems unconscionable to leave her lonely and aching, knowing that she’s trying to ease my burdens in her own way.

Still, comforting her is a task best suited to Malkin, not to me — if she’ll tolerate him. She has never stopped at a _single_ attempt at bedding me in the entirety of the time I’ve known her.

“Thanks. I mean it. But I should head home now, before it gets any later. You can use my room as long as Malkin says it’s okay. I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.”

Her voice is small and quiet, as if my rejection has taken every ounce of her pride and strength with it. Like every other time, I know that she will find them again eventually; she’ll forget I was ever here and return to her delusions soon enough. But first, there will be tears. There will be knives. There will be scratches in places that I am too tired and heartsick to consider until the next time I return. And the sooner I leave, the sooner she can have them all — the sooner _I_ can get back to the floor of the Drowning Wench and Baderon’s best.

She lets me crawl out of bed and tuck her in, which could have served as a warning with a clearer mind. I am halfway to the door when I hear the sound of steel being drawn.

“Hey, Raph’ir. Will you… close my eyes, too? Please?”

My hand instinctively reaches for my rapier as the bottom of my stomach drops to my feet.

 _No. Don’t you_ dare _—!_

Malkin pushes past me at a speed that amazes me for a man his age, planting himself between the two of us. Before I can react, his hands are wrapped around Zee’s, grappling with her over the knife she’d kept hidden in the bodice of her dress. She puts up the best fight she can, but her grief and exhaustion are no match for his adrenaline-fueled strength; I remember to breathe again as he throws the offending knife in the general direction of my feet.

“Until _next_ time, Master Somnalune. I pray you will forgive me such a _rude_ farewell.”

He thinks I don’t notice the spreading red stains across the perfect whiteness of his gloves.

Hesitation will only serve to drag out the incident. I don’t even bother to nod as I pick up the discarded knife for safekeeping and head back downstairs to collect the few belongings I left in the estate, including my letter to Lili. There is no chance that I will finish it tonight; the morning will be spoken for by a pounding headache and searing light. The Twelve’s penchant for handing me more than I can bear to carry at one time remains impeccable. I’ve never been entirely sure whether it’s Them or myself that I hate more on nights such as this.

 _Save_ this _world? Save_ everyone _? Oh, Hydaelyn. You’ve chosen the wrong man. Can’t you see? What light I have was paid for with darkness. I never asked for a_ perfect _or an_ easy _life. Only a life that mattered. Only a life that made a difference. But every time I think I’ve found it, it slips through my fingers like Ul’dahn sand. Maybe Zee was right. There’s no such thing as_ safe _. Never will be. And if that’s the case, maybe_ my _eyes are the ones that need closing._

_What good is being a hero if you fail? I never did come up with a good answer to the question I asked myself all those years ago. And Allaz… died instead of answering it for me._

Scarlotta waits for me in the stable outside, in the place where Master Hughes’ chocobo cart used to rest. She flutters her crimson wings as I climb into her saddle, reading the tiny motions and cues of my body that betray my despair. It doesn’t take more than a quick word or two and a nudge of my heels to point her toward Limsa and the sun, falling one slow ilm at a time from its peak in the sky. The concerned tilt of her head does nothing to improve my plunging mood.

Somewhere between the Crystal Tower, the chaos behind me, and the thousands of memories locked away inside myself, my mind provides enough noise to fill the silence between the ambient sounds in the growing dusk.

_You wanted the truth, didn’t you, Lili? This is it._

_Still think I’m a hero now?_

_The world will know better, soon enough. Trust me._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading _Memoirs of a Miqo’te_! I’m humbled by having 100+ views on something this long, unfinished, _and_ featuring an OC. I hope that you’ll continue to enjoy Raphail’s saga as it draws to a close. After so many years of seeing the world through his eyes, I couldn’t be more proud of how far he’s come despite all of the struggles he has faced. If he can do it, then so can all of us!
> 
> This is an ongoing story with more chapters to come, so please keep an eye out for future additions. I frequently prioritize stories for [_The Crystal Collection_](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819948), so you may see longer gaps between _Memoirs_ releases than usual.
> 
> For more information on my current writing schedule and the other FFXIV stuff I spend my time on, please check out my [Carrd site](https://raphsdesk.carrd.co/) at your convenience.


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